


I'll Be Right Here

by Smuffly



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Banter, F/M, Friendship, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped, Mystery, Narrative split between past and present, Shawn Spencer in trouble, Shules
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 64,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26283430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smuffly/pseuds/Smuffly
Summary: Shawn wakes up in a dark place with an unexpected companion.  Is this a mystery of galactic proportions or will our irrepressible hero be brought back down to earth with a 'whump'?  Are things really what they seem to be?  Only one way to find out: read on!An exciting adventure, featuring the whole team (and a few other familiar faces).  Set in Season 5, after 'In Plain Fright'.
Relationships: Juliet O'Hara/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 59
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

_**"Okay, I just hope we don't wake up on Mars or something, surrounded by millions of little squashy guys."  
(From: 'E.T. the Extra Terrestrial'.)** _

**Now**...

There are some things in life - vital, comforting things - that can only be appreciated when we have lost them.

Equilibrium was definitely one of those things.

Shawn Spencer stuck his fingers in his ears and wiggled them around with a vague idea that this might do something scientific and useful to restore his balance. When it didn't he pulled them back out again and sighed regretfully. Standing up so quickly had been a bad idea. Sliding down the nearest wall, he landed on the floor and let his legs splay out instead. This kept him from toppling over; a small but important victory. "Spencer for the win," he murmured, grateful for the sound of his own voice.

His head was still swimming. _Why_ was it swimming? And where on earth was he? Impossible to say. When his legs felt more... well, _leggish_ , and less like jello, he planned on exploring. But right now it was strangely pleasant to sit back against the wall and do nothing. The darkness all around him was impenetrable. He felt shut in and yet there was also a sense of space. A room, then, but not a small one. Straining his ears, he listened for tell-tale sounds but all he could hear was a constant whine, irritating and pervasive. Machinery, perhaps? Was he in some kind of warehouse?

"And how did I get here?" he asked the room at large, not expecting an answer.

"You don't remember?" said a voice beside him.

Shawn squealed in surprise. Never had his senses failed him quite so badly. "Who's there?" he demanded, hastily dropping back down to a manlier octave. This wasn't Gus, yet the voice was still familiar.

 _Close your eyes..._ Ridiculous, in the darkness, but the memory of his father's stern catchphrase always grounded him in a way that he couldn't admit to the self-righteous, grumpy old man. Shawn raised his shaking fingers to his forehead and concentrated. Seconds later, a flash of recognition hit him so hard that it was almost painful. " _Dennis?_ "

"Who else? We've really gone and done it, Shawn."

"Do you think that you could be a tad more cryptic?" He reached out and found his friend's arm. It was warm and solid, and he clutched it with relief. "I don't think you're trying hard enough."

Dennis gave a hollow laugh. "Then let me say it plainly. We've been abducted. By aliens. We're on their spaceship right now." He paused. "I don't know whether to panic or celebrate. Shawn, we made it. Living proof."

"Of a darkened room? Impressive." Shawn's flippant tone belied his true emotions. Dennis may be a super-nerd and a massive conspiracy theorist but that didn't make him stupid. Quite the opposite, in fact. He had already helped them solve one mystery involving fake UFO abductions. Shawn clung to the word 'fake' and tried again. "I woke up five minutes ago. How about you? Did you see anything when we were... taken?" The sentence sounded utterly ridiculous, even to his ears.

"I wish," said Dennis fervently. "I'm the same as you. Been awake five minutes, tops. It's pretty black in here. And we're moving; can't you feel it?" He leaned in to whisper. "You think we're on their spaceship? You think we're even on _Earth_ anymore?"

"Okay, stop! Just... I can't do... This is impossible." Shawn took a deep breath and tried to calm down. He was really missing Gus and his occasional starring role as the Smug Voice of Science. Although - and he couldn't help smiling at the thought - if Gus _were_ here, there was no doubt that he would be freaking out in Oscar winning style right now. Shawn's brain took a welcome side trip down that entertaining road as he pictured the ceremony. Jules, looking drop dead gorgeous... Lassie, with his best lemon-sucking face, dressed to kill in a stylish tux with shoes polished to military standards... The Gusters, so proud of their son... Chris Rock (why not?) standing onstage with the card in his hand... _And the award for best meltdown in ridiculous circumstances goes to..._

"I feel space sick," Dennis groaned.

Shawn pulled away at once, his reverie in tatters. "Don't even think about it. Swallow, man; swallow. And try to concentrate on something else."

"Okay." There was a pause in the darkness. "Um - so what do you suppose they look like?"

"Who? Wait - the _aliens_?" Shawn gave a wild laugh. "Oh, I don't know - A.L.F.? You know this is a dream, right? A crazy dream. _My_ dream, so you're not even here. Any moment now, I'm going to wake up in my own bed. Then I'm gonna call _you_ , Dennis, and tell you all about it. Or, you know what? Maybe I'll call Jules instead, because I could do with some first class sympathy. My head is throbbing," he finished plaintively.

"Call her now," suggested Dennis. "Then I'll call my wife. If we're not out of range, that is. Miles above the planet. How good's your coverage?"

"Ha ha." Still, it was a good idea. Shawn dipped into his back pocket but all his fingertips found was denim, frayed seams and a plastic mood ring. "Figures. I must have dropped it."

Silence.

"Mine's gone too," said Dennis in a small voice. "That's not good."

"As opposed to what, exactly? What part of this _is_ good, Dennis?" The words were bubbling out of his throat by now, in a rising tide of panic. He pinched himself, and winced. "If it hurts when I do that, it's not a dream, right? That's disheartening. We need to find a way out of here, and fast, because meeting an alien really isn't on my top ten list of Things I Wanted To Do Today."

Once again, there was silence from Dennis.

" _Really?_ " said Shawn heavily.

"Well, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't." Dennis sounded contrite but hopeful. "They might be friendly, after all."

"Dennis, they kidnapped us." Shawn was rapidly losing what little store of patience and sanity he had left. "Not friendly. Not even close." He rubbed his temples absently. This threatened to be a headache of epic proportions. If only he could recall exactly how they had got into this mess in the first place. Maybe then he could figure a way out. _Go further back,_ he told himself. _What's the last thing you remember?_

The answer, when it came to him, was not what he expected.


	2. Chapter 2

_**"No! Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try."  
(From: 'The Empire Strikes Back'.)** _

**Then...**

The early morning sun was hidden behind cotton candy streaks of cloud that cast a delicate reflection on the sparkling ocean below. Shawn's cheeks were pink as well, but that was an unfortunate side effect of his morally justified indignation. "Look," he complained, waving crossly at the sky. "It's so early, even the sun's still in bed. Do we really have to do this, Jules?"

"Yes, we do." In her trim jogging suit, his new girlfriend (and oh, how he loved saying _that_ to himself) looked every bit the athlete. "You've been wound so tight lately, Shawn; don't think I haven't noticed. I know Declan got to you, and then there was all that trouble with Despereaux in Canada. Not to mention having to hide our... well, you know, from Carlton since we got back. I'm sure this will relax you. There's nothing quite like a long run on an empty beach for clearing the mind."

"But I'm hungry," he wheedled, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. He could smell it in the distance - food truck heaven.

"You're always hungry."

"Of course. That's the curse of my gift, Jules. It burns up all my energy. If I don't eat when my body demands it - well, there's no knowing what could happen. Talk to Gus if you don't believe me. He'll tell you all about the Great Half-Marathon Miscalculation of '07."

"Are you trying to say that you're going to faint if you don't have a breakfast burrito?"

"I might," Shawn said solemnly.

Juliet folded her arms and stared him down. Only she could make him feel so guilty (taking advantage, _he_ called it) and the button-cute detective not only knew that, but knew that Shawn knew that she knew it... "Or not," he amended, lowering his gaze. The look on his face was suitably penitent but the cogs were still turning in his brain. "Oh no!"

"What now?"

"I think I left the oven on. We have to go back!"

"You don't bake, Shawn. Not after the pineapple upside-down cake disaster."

"Of course not. I was making Shrinky-Dinks."

"At five in the morning?"

He moved in and wrapped his arms around her, trying to snuggle her into submission. "Can't put one past you, can I? You know," he breathed in her ear, "you're a pretty great detective."

"Yes I am. And your change of tactic isn't going to fool me either." The warmth of her smile was tempered by a stern look in her eyes. "Come on, Shawn. I never took you for someone who was scared to be shown up by a girl."

_Well, it wouldn't be the first time - or the last,_ Shawn admitted to himself as Juliet pulled away from him and set off along the beach at a healthy jog-trot. He watched her proudly, almost forgetting that he was supposed to be running beside her. Everything about their relationship was so new, and yet so familiar, that it made his heart ache with a love that was almost akin to disbelief.

"Shawn!"

"Oh - yes, sorry! I'm coming..."

He tried to catch up to her; really, he did. Wasn't this supposed to be a gentle, fun activity? "Jules, you're... on fire!" he called out after his disappearing partner as he pounded along behind her with his arms pumping wildly. Why was he making no progress? "Am I running backwards?" he complained to no one in particular.

"Pick up the pace!" Juliet shouted over her shoulder, determined to spur him on. Shawn had often observed that she had a tendency to throw herself into whatever she did, be it undercover work or training the Psych boys for their stellar dance routine on American Duos. This was clearly one of those times. Usually, he found her dedication adorable. But if he didn't catch up soon (which seemed more and more likely), the only glimpse of her that he was going to have for the rest of the run would be a line of perfectly spaced footprints in the sand.

"You... go on," he spluttered with false generosity. "Stone... in my shoe..." And he staggered to a halt, dropping to his knees with sweet relief - just as an elderly gentleman jogged past him, lean as a rubber band and grinning smugly. "That's just great. Thanks a lot, old timer."

"You're welcome, sonny boy," the octogenarian chuckled. _Eat my dust,_ said his skinny flashing heels.

_When I tell this tale to Gus,_ Shawn promised to himself, _it's going to be very, very, VERY different._

He sat down and pulled off his shoe, keeping up the pretence in case Jules doubled back to check on him. When he tipped it upside down, a river of sand poured out. "Must have weighed me down," he muttered, feeling slightly better about his running prowess. Taking off his second shoe, he was about to empty that as well when a fast-moving blur caught his eye and he turned. "Ooh! Labradoodle."

The dog appeared to be alone. Perhaps, like Jules, it had left its companion far behind. Shawn followed its progress with delighted eyes as it scooted on down to the water and bowed to the waves, with its tail and its hindquarters high in the air. Then it froze and began to bark loudly.

"What's up, boy? Found a jellyfish? Be careful..." Scrambling to his feet, Shawn narrowed his eyes and squinted. _Not_ a jellyfish. "Oh!"

The shape was dark and disturbingly man-sized. It lay in the shallows, shifting gently with the movement of the tide. Shawn abandoned all caution, and also his shoes, racing down to the water's edge. The labradoodle pawed him gratefully, then turned back to nudge the body with its nose. "Good boy," Shawn said absently, stroking the dog as he waded in, socks and all, and crouched to get a closer look. He tried to remember correct police procedure. Should he move the body? What if it washed out further? What advice would the coroner give...? He pulled a wry face as he thought of Woody and his unpredictable ways. No, that probably wouldn't be much help at all.

Shawn reached for his cell phone to call Juliet - then drew back in shock as the body rolled over.

His first thought was: _zombies!_

His second was: _help him, you idiot._ Because, of course, the man was still alive.

Hooking the poor fellow by his armpits, Shawn dragged him out of the water and laid him carefully on the beach. "Fat help you are," he said to the labradoodle, who was bouncing up and down by now, with occasional _yips_ of encouragement. The dog licked him on the hand and Shawn relented. "Noodle," he read from the disc on its collar. "Noodle the doodle? Poor thing."

Noodle tilted his head, listening intently. "Okay," Shawn continued, talking, as he always did, to try and get a handle on the situation. "You're Noodle; I'm Shawn. And this is..." He stared down at the man. "Well, he's breathing. That's a good thing. _Really_ good," he quipped, "because I've only seen them do mouth-to-mouth in the movies... and besides, this guy is _not_ my type. But I should probably tilt him on his side, right? In case he swallowed any water?" Shawn shook his head. "Why am I asking you? Dogs don't know first aid. Better go with my instincts. Hey, fella? Can you hear me? I'm going to move you, okay, but don't worry. It's for your own good... I hope."

As he settled the semi-conscious man in a rough approximation of the recovery position, Shawn studied him carefully, plucking seaweed from his torso and patting his pockets at the same time, in the hope that he could rustle up some form of I.D. No such luck - and any other clues to his identity were few and far between. "Joe Average," Shawn grumbled. Mousy hair, washed-out complexion, three-day stubble. "Even your clothes are dull. Looks like you bite your nails, though, right down to the quick. And those dark circles under your eyes are practically bruises. What kind of stress were you under? And how did you end up like this? Did you jump, or were you pushed? Noodle - any thoughts?"

_Woof,_ said Noodle.

"Yes, you're right. Very wise. I should definitely call Juliet, because I can't do anything more here and, to be perfectly honest, this guy is creeping me out." He pulled out his cell phone and jabbed at the screen with damp fingers. Noodle listened, ears cocked, to the one-sided conversation that followed. "Jules? I need you back here right away. No, I'm not at the food truck. No, I haven't sprained my ankle! Do you really think so little of my physical...? Okay, look, just come back, will you? Yes, right now! There's a mostly dead guy on the beach. And a labradoodle, if that swings it for you. Yes, very cute. His name is Noodle. No, not the guy - the dog! What kind of name is Noodle for a drowned guy? Okay, sweetheart, see you soon."

Shawn pocketed his cell with a deep sigh and sat down heavily beside the stranger. The labradoodle proceeded to clamber into his lap, which was not unwelcome. They were both filthy and wet by now, so what did it matter? "Good boy," Shawn murmured absently, running his fingers through the curly coat. "You're a good boy, Noodle. Ever thought of becoming a police consultant? I could always use another partner, and you'd earn your weight in delicious dog treats. Probably have to share them with Gus, though. All that meaty goodness; hard to imagine he'd resist. You know he'll eat anything."

"Shawn!" Already, Juliet was by his side.

"You're fast," he told her happily. "Look, this is Noodle."

"So I see. And the dead man?"

" _Mostly_ dead," Shawn corrected her with pride. "I saved him. Well, it was more of a joint effort, right, doggo?"

Juliet crouched down. One hand reached out to scratch Noodle's nose. "Are you getting any sense of who he is?"

"What, the dog? Kidding," Shawn chuckled. "I don't have a name for our mystery man. Not yet. But I do sense he was in some kind of trouble. You know, before he ended up as human flotsam. Or is it jetson? I can never keep those straight."

"Jetsam," Juliet enunciated carefully.

"I've heard it both - hey!" Noodle was licking his face by now, making it hard to concentrate.

"Ex-cuse me," said a weary voice from somewhere by his knee.

Shawn pushed Noodle off his lap with some difficulty. Together, he and Juliet stared down at the pale-faced man. "You're awake," said Juliet redundantly.

"How are you feeling?" said Shawn.

"Wet. And tired." The man's deep-set gaze was disconcerting; bright blue within those dark circles. Now that his eyes were open, he looked quite different. Shawn couldn't quite put his finger on it but there was something distinctly _off_ about Mr. Mostly Dead. "Where am I?"

"You're safe." Juliet's tone was far more reassuring than Shawn's confused expression. "What were you doing in the water? Can you remember?"

"Not at all," said the man, and he didn't elaborate further.

_You're lying._ Shawn chose not to voice his opinion for once, preferring to let things play out a little longer. A cold breeze blew in from the ocean and he shivered. "Maybe we should move this indoors," he suggested. "You must be frozen in those wet clothes. Think you can walk if we help you?"

"I don't need your help now. Thank you," the strange man added belatedly. "You've done enough." It was almost, but not quite, an accusation. Once again, Shawn felt the wrongness of this man's demeanour. He frowned, and pressed his lips together.

"But you're soaking." Juliet sounded quite unhappy. "We can't just leave you here. Look, Shawn's office is right on the boardwalk... This is Shawn, by the way, and I'm Juliet." She paused, with an expectant look in her eyes.

Clearly, their new friend had trust issues. "Cal," he said finally. Was it his real name? Shawn raised an eyebrow.

"That's nice. Short for Calvin? Calamity? Calamine lotion?" He stopped when he caught sight of Juliet's frown, and shrugged. "You know I can't help myself. I'm sorry, Cal. Look, the offer is totally genuine. Dry clothes, a hot drink and all the sugary snacks you can eat if you hoof it on over to Psych with us - that's my office, okay? My very own psychic detective agency. I have a gift," he added nonchalantly, raising his fingers to his temples.

For the first time, Cal seemed interested. Slowly and carefully, he sat up. Now he was face to face with Shawn. His breath reeked of menthol and his sodden clothes were rank with the smell of the ocean. Shawn wrinkled his nose but could not turn away. Cal's gaze was quite hypnotic.

"Very well," the stranger said. "You pulled me from the waves. I choose to trust you."

_That's great,_ thought Shawn. _Thanks a bunch, Cal._

If only the feeling was mutual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: A children's book entitled 'Noodle the Doodle' was published in the UK recently. I wrote this chapter before I saw any of the publicity, so the Noodle that Shawn meets on the beach is entirely my own creation.


	3. Chapter 3

_**"Sometimes, in order to see the light, you have to risk the dark."  
(From: 'Minority Report'.)** _

**1983...**

When Shawn turned six, Burton Guster dipped into his piggy bank (which he liked to call his coin collection) and bought his best friend a kaleidoscope as a birthday present.

Just as Gus had predicted, Shawn was fascinated by the shifting colours. For at least ten minutes, the young boy was quite content to twist and turn the cap, watching the tumbling progress of the plastic beads as he tried to predict the next pattern based on the sequence it was following.

By the end of the party, his new toy was in pieces. "I solved it," he explained to his devastated friend, scotch tape in hand and the perfect expression of innocence in his eyes. "So I broke it to make it better. I was going to fix it back together."

"But you _didn't_ fix it," Gus complained. "Look, the little beads are everywhere. I even ate some. I thought they were sprinkles."

"I never said it was a good idea." Once again, Shawn's curiosity got the better of him. "Did they taste like sprinkles? Are there any left...?"

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

_Shimmer, rise and fall._

There were migraine sparkles in Shawn's vision, flashing bright against the darkness, just like his old kaleidoscope but far less entertaining. The promise, in patterns, of pain to come made him feel queasy. He tried to keep remembering - he _knew_ it was important - but the headache was distracting him and now his thoughts were spinning too. Not fair. Not _helpful_. Why now, of all times?

"Oof," he muttered, grinding the palms of his hands against his eyelids. _Stay calm. Deep breath. You can do this._ "Dennis, you still with me, man?"

"What? Yeah..."

"You sound muffled."

"That's because I'm curled up in a ball." Dennis sounded calm enough but Shawn's sharp ears could hear the tell-tale tremor in his voice. "The foetal position is a classic way to protect your core. Plus, it's comforting. Like being back in the womb."

"O-kay... That may be a little too much information, buddy. Think you can uncurl...? _De-_ curl? Sit up and help me for a minute?"

"Help you? How?" With a rustle of limbs unfolding, Dennis obeyed him. Clearly, the hope of some action was just as appealing to him as it was nauseating to Shawn right now.

Shawn dragged himself to his feet once more and leaned his shoulder against the wall that was fast becoming his brand new friend. "We need to do some exploring. Even spaceships have doors, right?" _Right?_ He truly hoped so. "How about we try and find one? I'm about done with this sci-fi adventure. Space is very, very big and I don't think I want to go there. It's time to go home."

More rustling.

"Molly's gonna kill me," Dennis said, right by his ear. Shawn resisted the urge to swat him away.

"No she won't."

"Yes, she will. It's our wedding anniversary tomorrow. Wait - _is_ it tomorrow already? Have I missed it?" Shawn heard the familiar click and puff that meant Dennis had pulled out his asthma inhaler. "She made me promise that nothing would make me forget. And I didn't! I bought her a present and everything. A good one. Not like jewellery or flowers. Tickets to TriCon, man, for the both of us. Starbuck _and_ Apollo will be there this year; original, not reboot."

"Sweet," said Shawn, trying hard to be supportive even though his brain was melting. Was this what he sounded like, when he went off on one of his tangents? He made a mental note to change his ways - and then promptly forgot all about it. "I've been to TriCon. It's... an experience. Ask the guys in charge if they remember Psych-Man and Magic Head. I'm sure we left a great impression." He gave a faint chuckle. "Now look, Dennis, here's what I need you to do. We're going to follow the wall, okay? You go left and I'll go right. Feel your way and see what you can find." _And let's just hope we don't bump right back into each other._

"Like a door?"

"Exactly like a door. Or a light switch," Shawn suggested with an optimism that was forced and unconvincing. Dennis seemed to fall for it, though.

"Got it," he said, and Shawn felt a strange sense of absence as the other man moved away, one shuffling step at a time.

He pressed his back against the wall, arms outstretched and fingertips brushing the cool surface. "Okay, feet," he muttered. "You're up."

Easier said than done. Shawn inched sideways, terrified of pitching over. The migraine was passing across his left eye just now but he knew that the fractured light show was only the beginning. This wasn't their first dance together and the moves were always the same. Deep pain would follow, then weariness. He couldn't stop now. He had to press on.

 _One step._ A couple of rivets, and a vertical seam.

 _Two steps. Three steps. Four._ Plain, unyielding metal.

"Boring," Shawn accused the wall. He slammed his fist against it several times, in a moment of frustration. "Show me what you've got. Come on!"

 _Five steps._ And the wall obliged.

Hardly daring to believe his luck, Shawn turned around and ran his hands up and down the whole area, testing every detail; feeling out the clues that would create the picture in his mind. Real. It was real. A studded doorframe and a heavy bolt. _We're out of here,_ he crowed. "Hey, Dennis? I got something."

"Me too!"

"Okay, that's great, but mine's much better. It's a door."

"Yeah, I'm _pretty_ sure mine's a door too."

Taken aback for a second by this new development, Shawn rallied quickly. "Open together on three?" he suggested, far too excited to wait for an answer. "One... Two..."

"Three!" they yelled in unison.

Shawn took hold of the bolt and heaved with every bit of strength he had remaining. Had somebody welded the bar into place? If not, then he really was woefully out of shape. The kaleidoscope pattern that filled his vision grew brighter and more insistent, and he began to fear that he would rupture something... when, all at once, the bar gave way, shooting sideways and dragging him with it. The door swung open and Shawn lost his balance entirely. The back of his head hit the floor with a crack that sent fireworks shooting through his skull. "Fourth of July," he mumbled. "Pretty."

A wave of cold air poured out through the opening that he had just created. In the darkness, he felt it intensely. _Oh, no! Not an airlock?_ "Don't be ridiculous, Shawn," he scolded himself in his best imitation of Gus. "One: you're not on a spaceship because that's impossible. Two: if this was an airlock, you'd have been sucked out the moment it opened. I mean, c'mon son - we've both seen Alien. _And_ Aliens.... And three: just get up. You're embarrassing yourself." Even Fake Gus was comforting. Obediently, Shawn sat up and rubbed his head. His eyes were starting to adjust to the gloom. Stretching out his fingers, he tested the frozen atmosphere through the doorway.

Frozen.

A freezer. A walk-in freezer. For alien ice-cream, perhaps?

"You're right, Fake Gus. I'm an idiot." Shawn laughed out loud in sheer relief. So it wasn't a way out? No problem. Dennis was bound to have had more luck. "Hey, Dennis?" he shouted.

No answer - and that _was_ a problem.

Shawn turned his head and saw, in the distance, a pale rectangle of light. " _Not_ a freezer," he deduced. "Or an airlock, for that matter." Dennis had clearly succeeded in finding the exit. "But why didn't you wait for me? Gus would have waited." Which was not strictly true, based on past experience, but Shawn's voice cracked pathetically all the same as he contemplated his present state of abandonment. He clambered to his feet and struck out across the dark room with his arms outstretched, weaving to and fro but heading roughly in the right direction. Light was better than darkness. It had to be. He was sick of seeing nothing. "I need to see," he sang out as he shuffled along. "I need to hear and taste and smell and... oof!" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I need Tylenol too. Or whatever you aliens take for a headache. If you have heads. Or feel pain... Can anyone hear me? Am I talking to myself? Dennis Gogolack, this isn't funny!"

As he approached the open doorway, his rambling monologue tailed off and caution kicked in. He blinked through the migraine haze and tiptoed closer. Grasping the frame with one hand, he peered out.

No aliens. No Dennis, either.

Shawn tried to stay positive. "At least I can see where I'm going now." The corridor was grey and dimly lit, but even the dullest of bulbs seemed like heaven compared to the dark place that he had just left behind.

And that was another thing. Light bulbs, on a spaceship? "Not likely," he snorted. "Of course, I didn't believe it for a second." _Said the liar._ Eagerly, greedily, he took in every detail he could find, like a starving man faced with a banquet table. Raised threshold. Metal stairway. A hatchet in a sealed glass case. And a sign with an arrow that pointed straight up to the deck "...of the boat!" he crowed. "I'm on a boat. That's awesome!"

 _No,_ said Fake Gus, in his head. _No, it's not._


	4. Chapter 4

_**"Let's have an intelligent conversation here. I'll talk and you listen."  
(From: 'Waterworld'.)** _

**Then...**

By the time they reached the Psych office, Cal was walking on his own, trailing seawater all along the boardwalk and squelching with every step. Juliet led the way while Shawn hovered behind them, both hands outstretched in case the man should falter.

Much to Shawn's disappointment, his new buddy Noodle had chosen to stay by the water's edge. Dog-napping - though tempting - was Wrong (especially when your girlfriend was a junior detective) but he already missed the loveable floof.

"Key?" said Juliet.

"Um..." Shawn looked down and patted the various pockets in his shorts and windbreaker. "Maybe... on the beach?"

Groaning in frustration at his habitual carelessness, Juliet rattled the handle - and the door swung open.

"There you are, you see?" grinned Shawn. "Problem solved. Oh ye of little faith and perfect features."

"How on _earth_ do you guys never get robbed?"

"Shawn just lucky, I guess," he said with his best George-of-Jungle grin. Juliet smacked him on the arm.

"Luck runs out," she warned him. "But the flattery was a nice touch."

Cal was watching their exchange with open curiosity. "And you two are... a couple?"

"For three whole weeks now." Shawn ushered him into the office and closed the door behind them.

"It only took him four and a half years to win me over," Juliet smirked.

"I won you over the moment we met," Shawn corrected her fondly. "Busted out my best moves. I was charming," he paraphrased, for Cal's benefit. "It took her four and a half years to admit it."

"Sure, if it makes you feel better to tell it that way." Juliet leaned in and Shawn wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"That's my girl," he murmured. "So thoughtful."

Cal looked uncomfortable. "Are you going to kiss?"

They froze, lips almost touching, and stared at him.

"What I mean is, I'm not really used to... I've never seen..."

" _Please_ ," Shawn begged him. "Don't finish that sentence. Look, we're stepping apart now." They both obliged. "Do you mind if we hold hands, at least? Or hook our little fingers... just like this?"

"Do you have some dry clothes for me? You promised. And a hot drink, and some sugary snacks - your words."

"Dude." Shawn shook his head in disbelief. "Conversation really isn't your strong suit, is it? You're like the king of non-sick... non-suckit..."

"I think you mean non-sequiturs. It's Latin," said a smooth voice behind him - and Gus stepped out of the kitchen area.

"Pretty sure he's heard it both ways," Juliet suggested, leaving Shawn's mouth hanging open.

"Shawn Spencer, lost for words. At last. Good job, detective." Gus sidled past them and strolled to his desk with a pop tart in one hand and a strawberry Nesquik in the other. "This relationship has got my absolute approval." He took a closer look at Cal. "Wait a minute - why is your guest dripping all over our nice clean floor while you two stand there canoodling?"

"That was aimed at both of us. Did you notice?" Shawn muttered to Juliet, keen to make her switch sides again. "Watch me smack it back over the net." He raised his voice. "Why do _you_ have a pop tart when no one else does, and when this man is clearly in need of a snack?" Snatching the hot pastry from Gus in a bold, flamboyant move, he managed to burn his fingers on the molten sauce and promptly dropped it with a yelp. The pop tart hit the floor and lay there, oozing its sweet berry filling, until Gus scooped it up again indignantly. Both men always observed the classic 'thirty second' rule. "Come to think of it, what are you even doing here?" Shawn continued, as though nothing untoward had happened. "It's still night time."

"It's six thirty, Shawn," said Juliet.

"Exactly!" Remembering his manners at last, Shawn steered Cal towards the couch, but Gus shook his head.

"Oh no. Not without a towel or some kind of plastic sheet. I just got that couch cleaned after the caramel sauce disruption from our Die Hard marathon."

"We never did die harder," Shawn murmured in Juliet's ear.

"Or with a vengeance?"

"Jules," he said delightedly, "you're awesome."

" _Please_ ," said Cal. "Stop talking. I can't bear it anymore." He clapped his hands over his ears and dropped down onto the couch, in spite of a loud 'tsk' from Gus. "You promised to help me. It's my turn to talk now."

 _Rude,_ mouthed Shawn to no one in particular - but he sat down beside Cal all the same, hugging a cushion and trying to look suitably penitent. Deep down, he knew that they had probably gone too far. It was hard to stop, that was all. He just felt so giddy when Jules was around. Life was good. Life was very, very good. Could he limit his words, in order to help this weirdo? Sure, why not? One word at a time ought to do it. Besides, that sounded like kind of a fun challenge. He wondered how long he could get away with it before the others caught on. "Speak."

"Who _is_ this wet guy?" Gus whispered to Juliet. "Friend of yours?"

She shrugged, as if to say: _just listen._ "Cal, you told us you couldn't remember how you came to be in the water?"

He stared at her, breathing deeply. In... out... in... out... Almost as though he were testing the scent of her character, or so it seemed to Shawn. Was there a sliding scale for weirdness? If so, this nut job would be way up there, one step behind Mary Lightly, the criminal profiler who had met his untimely end at the hands of Shawn's arch nemesis, Mr. Yin.

"I said that, yes."

They waited.

"And?" prompted Shawn.

"And it's true. I know where I was before, though."

Again, they waited. Shawn's leg was jigging up and down by now, but he was nothing if not stubborn. "Where?"

"In a room."

"Oh my goodness," Gus burst out. "This is torture. I mean, really, torture. Spit it out, man. How hard can it be?"

Cal glared at him. "No torture. That's just where they kept me. I escaped," he added proudly.

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere." Juliet sat down on the other side of him, and her voice was sympathetic. "Who kept you there? Wait - you're shivering. I can feel it through the couch."

"That's _him_ ," Cal said pointedly, elbowing Shawn, who looked guilty and held his leg still with one hand. "But I am cold. Your ocean is very unfriendly."

 _Our ocean?_ Gus mouthed.

Behind Cal, Shawn made the universal 'crazy' circle in the air with his finger. _Wackadoo,_ he mouthed back, borrowing one of Lassiter's favourite insults. Gus sniffed, and took a large, deliberate bite of his pop tart.

"Um... yes, it can be." Used to interrogating any number of strange suspects, Juliet managed to keep her cool. "Shawn, weren't you going to fetch some dry clothes? Or at least a towel?"

"Okay" he said obligingly. Juliet narrowed her eyes. She was already looking suspicious but the game was fun, and Shawn wanted to push it as far as he could, so he blew her a kiss as he leapt to his feet, threw the cushion aside and headed for the closet. "Continue," he instructed Cal, over his shoulder.

"Are you sure?"

" _I'm_ sure," Gus insisted. "You said 'they'. Who are 'they'? Are 'they' likely to come chasing after you? I'm only asking out of concern for your safety - you know, as a concerned citizen."

"They'll be mad. But I don't think they'll find me here. How could they?"

"Okay. Okay, that's good," Gus said warily.

Cal hadn't finished, however. "Even the government can't defeat a psychic."

"Say what?" Shawn popped back out of the closet, clutching a zombie mask and a pair of flip-flops, which he dropped at once. Game over. Time to concentrate. This situation was starting to spin out of control and he didn't like the feel of it; not one jot.

"You ran away from the government?" frowned Juliet, sitting up ramrod straight. "That's pretty serious. Why are they chasing you?"

Cal gave an unexpected smile that crinkled the corners of his cool, blue eyes and made him appear far more animated. "Ask your man. He has special powers. He must know."

Shawn swallowed. There was little left that he could glean from Cal's appearance or his strange and stilted conversation. "Um... wouldn't it be quicker if you tell us? Divination really takes it out of me. I should save my strength, if the government's coming to beat down my door."

"That seems fair," Cal agreed. "Very well. I'm a visitor. An alien. Not of this earth; you understand?"

Three blank faces stared at him. Seconds passed - or were they minutes? Gus was the first to break the awkward silence, as always. "Well," he said evenly. "That explains everything. Shawn - can I have a word with you? In private?"


	5. Chapter 5

_**"Hope is not a strategy."  
** _ _**(From 'Mission: Impossible - Fallout'.)** _

**Now...**

Never in his life before had Shawn been seasick (unlike poor Gus). "And I'm not going to start now," he grumbled, clamping his teeth together and pressing his hand across his mouth as he willed the queasy feeling to subside. A migraine and the missing fragments of his recent past were quite enough to deal with, thank you very much. _Got to find Dennis. And then a way out of here. Bound to be lifeboats somewhere. That's like a rule of the ocean, right?_

So, choices. Since heading back into the darkness was really not an option, Shawn was faced with two new directions, neither of which filled him with warm, fuzzy feelings of joy. Should he climb on up to the deck, where he might be able to get his bearings, but where he also ran the risk of being spotted by whatever crew members (or villains) were on board? Or should he tiptoe down the creepy passageway, further into shadow and uncertainty? Sadly, there was no clear way to ascertain which way Dennis might have gone. Sometimes, Shawn wished that he really was psychic. Still, there were always alternatives.

"Eeny... meeny... miny... moe!"

His moving finger pointed to the metal stairway. "Fresh air," he muttered, trying to convince himself that fortune (and a tacky children's rhyme) had favoured him. "That's nice." He placed his foot on the first step, gazing upwards. The top of the stairs opened out into some kind of cabin - hopefully unoccupied. Shawn pictured his head popping up like a gopher, and sighed. He was going to have to be cautious and that really went against his nature.

He crept up the stairs with one hand on the rail and his back bent low. Changing levels made his head spin, but no voices drifted down to him, and that was a blessing, at least. The only sound he could hear was the same irritating whine, which he now assumed to be the engine.

How big _was_ this boat, he wondered. _And when is a boat not a boat, but a ship?_ Gus would know, of course, and relish telling him - but Gus wasn't here. _Why not?_ Shawn paused, and tried yet again to remember. The chain of events was becoming a little less muddled but there were still so many questions left. A man on a beach, dripping wet, with something strange about his story. Pop tarts and a fluffy labradoodle. Juliet... _At least she's not here either,_ he sighed, glad that his girlfriend was safe. Though it would have been nice to hold her hand right now, instead of the ugly metal rail. Or hang back altogether, while she took point with a gun. "Wishful thinking," he whispered, reaching the step he had fondly dubbed his Last Chance. Last chance to turn around and try the passageway instead. Last chance to remain unseen if there was someone up above.

Last chance to be a coward or a hero.

 _Jules would do_ _it_.

Shawn bit his lip and clenched his fists. Inching forwards, he poked his head up and tried to take in all the details of the small, untidy cabin through the receding shimmer that still obscured part of his vision. It was empty of people, thank goodness, but filled with all manner of charts and technical panels. He spotted what looked like a radio and hope fluttered in his chest. Escape, or even rescue might be closer than he had hoped. Through a grubby window, the rays of the setting sun penetrated, casting long shadows across the deck, including an outline of his head and shoulders. "Six more weeks of winter," Shawn quipped but, unlike the groundhog, he didn't retreat. Instead, he climbed the rest of the way and sidled along the cabin wall in stealth mode, taking care to stay well away from the window.

He glanced quickly at some of the sea charts in passing, but gave up in disgust when he discovered that none of them bore a nice clear marker stating that He Was Here. At least they appeared to be fairly local, judging by the familiar shape of the coastline. That was reassuring. Assuming he _did_ find a lifeboat, trying to navigate all the way back from somewhere exotic like Mexico or British Columbia really didn't seem like something he would enjoy (or be particularly good at). Gus was the geography nut. Shawn's grasp of the subject had always been iffy.

So, the maps were useless - but the radio called to him like a beacon. A list of helpful frequencies was pinned to a cork board on the wall. At the top of the list was the coastguard. Apparently, even bad guys needed help at sea when things got rough. Shawn pressed his fingers to his temple and scowled as he tried to remember the name of Chief Vick's sister. She was a commander in the U.S. Coastguard, feisty and competitive; the sort of person he would really welcome on his side right now. Her name began with a 'B', he was certain. Betsy? Bonnie? "Barbara!" he crowed. "Barbara Dunlap." Yes, that was it!

Triumphantly, he lurched across the cabin, but just as his fingertips brushed the radio, the boat (or ship?) caught an errant wave that threw him completely off balance. He tumbled sideways into a corner, cracking his funny bone against the deck. "Ow," he complained. "That's not funny at all. Who gets to name these things, anyway? Someone call Webster and tell 'em they got it wrong. It should be the Grim-bone, or the Point of Pain. Nothing hilarious. _Maybe_ hysterical..."

Still muttering obsessively to himself on the subject, Shawn was about to clamber to his feet again when he heard someone approaching. Driven by adrenaline, he scuttled across to the only hiding place he could think of and positioned himself behind the door as it opened. This meant that he did not see the person who came through it until they were right in the middle of the cabin.

The door swung shut. The person turned.

"Oh. Hi!" said Shawn with false bravado as he gazed up at the alarming bulk of this new individual, not to mention their grumpy, weather-beaten face. Dark, wiry hair, a thick beard and a mouth that seemed too full of tombstone teeth completed the look. "Bluto, is it?" The sailor looked nonplussed. Clearly, the Popeye reference meant nothing to him. "Never mind," Shawn continued hastily. "Shall I stand? I'll stand..." He dragged himself back onto his feet, with more than a little support from the nearby wall. Then he stuck out his hand. The sailor did not take it. "Shawn Spencer. Head Psychic for the S.B.P.D. Um - any idea what I'm doing here?"

"Don't you _know_ that, psychic?" 'Bluto' sneered.

Shawn flushed. "Here's the thing. No, I don't. Something... happened to me. Maybe I was drugged, or someone hit me. I can't remember. And my visions; well, they're... not behaving at the moment. I'm still trying to piece this all together. Hey, perhaps you can help me. Any thoughts? I'd welcome anything at this point. Information-wise," he added hastily as Bluto stepped forwards. "Not... um, not anything violent. _Help_!"

"Oh, stop squeaking. I'm not gonna punch you. Waste of a good knuckle sandwich." Bluto grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him round until he was facing the door. Then he proceeded to frog-march him through it. The cold sea air felt like a slap to the face. Shawn blinked fiercely as he stumbled across the open deck. His eyesight was almost clear by now; his migraine in that peaceful limbo that came between the aggravating sparkles and the soul-destroying pain. And Bluto's grip was firm but not unkind. All in all, things could be worse - though he did have a new and unfortunate craving for sandwiches that made his stomach rumble.

The ship - for ship it had to be, he realised - was large enough to hold not one but several lifeboats. Shawn made a mental note of their positions as he passed them by. Peering out across the water, he could see no sign of land. The sky above was cloudy and the golden sun was almost out of sight below the waves.

"We going to see the captain?" Shawn enquired of Bluto.

"Yep," the surly man replied, without elaboration.

"Know where my friend is? Dennis Gogolack? We were together just now, but I lost him."

"Careless."

"Yes. Yes, it was. Thanks for that. You're so helpful; I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," said Bluto unexpectedly.

Shawn twisted his head round to stare up into the dark, ugly tangles of the sailor's beard, which was all he could really see from his current vantage point. "Not the way I use it."

"Think you're a funny man, don't you?"

"Well," said Shawn; "yes."

Bluto halted, tightening his grip. " _Well_ ," he mimicked; "you're not. So shut up."

"Like I've never heard that before," Shawn muttered, never quite able to stop himself stealing the last word. Driven to distraction, Bluto lifted one meaty hand and struck him hard across the face. Shawn's knees buckled but the sailor's other hand now clung to his collar so that, instead of falling, he swung limply in the man's grasp. Going boneless had saved him in the past - in fact, he counted it one of his best moves - but this time he had no control. Choking was a real and present threat. With one twist of the fabric around his neck, Bluto could easily end his life. "'Kay," he managed to blurt out, scrabbling hopelessly at the giant fingers that held him. "Sorry. My bad."

In response to Shawn's hoarse apology, Bluto dropped him to the deck, where he lay like a fish that had just been hooked from the ocean. There was a subtle ringing in his ears. He opened his mouth to fire out a retort... and then closed it with a snap.

"Guess you're learnin'." Bluto sounded pleased.

 _I'm a quick study._ Shawn bit back the words. Now, at last, he was truly afraid.


	6. Chapter 6

_**"I'm the guy who does his job. You must be the other guy."  
(From: 'The Departed'.)** _

**Then...**

As soon as they were out of the building, Gus rounded on his partner. "We're not falling for this again, Shawn. It's called 'learning from our mistakes'."

"Why start now?"

Shawn flashed his infectious grin - but Gus was tired from working through the night and his tolerance levels were rock bottom. "I'm not joking. We looked like idiots last time."

"Until we solved the case, sure. But that's how we roll. You don't make waffles without breaking eggs."

"Pretty certain it's an omelette."

Shawn looked bewildered. "How do you make waffles, then? No, that can't be right... Okay, never mind. My point is..."

" _My_ point," Gus interrupted, "is that I can't do this with you right now."

"But you _wanted_ to talk. You asked me, back there in the office. I'm so confused..."

"Not the conversation. The alien thing. The case you're seconds away from taking, because I know you, Shawn. You're like a magnet for the ridiculous."

Shawn leaned on the windowsill and folded his arms, staring out across the ocean with a thoughtful expression. "Are you saying my attraction is too powerful...?"

Gus threw up his hands in resignation. "No, I... Shawn! Will you focus for one minute?"

His best friend chuckled. "Oh, come on, Gus. Don't be the raindrops that keep falling on my head. I'm just messing with you, buddy. Of course he's not an alien; we both know that. He's just a crazy dude that floated in upon the tide. And I'm pretty sure he's in some kind of trouble, meaning he needs our help."

"Your help. I'm busy today, remember?" Gus frowned. "You don't remember, do you? I'll give you ten dollars right now if you can tell me what I'm talking about."

"Of course I remember... ooh! Snow cones." Shawn set off along the boardwalk like an overactive puppy, trailing Gus behind him. "Looks like you're buying - but not for yourself. That's my advice, anyway. You don't want a bright blue mouth for your important presentation. I wonder if aliens like shaved ice. What do you think? Gus...?" He halted and turned back to stare at his friend.

"You remembered," Gus said slowly.

"Well, of course I did. I always pay attention when you tell me things."

That _did_ make him laugh - but not in a humorous way. "No, Shawn. I can safely say this is a red letter day."

"Them let's celebrate." They reached the vendor and placed their order. Shawn held up his palm expectantly. With a sigh, Gus pulled out his wallet. Then he paused.

"If I give you this money, you have to promise me something."

"But I already won the bet," Shawn complained.

"Promise, Shawn."

"Without hearing it first? Do I need a lawyer?"

"That depends on how much you trust me."

The snow cones glistened. Shawn relented. Gus knew full well that his best friend's pockets were empty.

"Fine. I promise. Pay the man and tell me what I've let myself in for."

They wandered slowly back to the office. Gus considered his words with care. "This is an important occasion for me," he began. "I'm the host of our annual open day. I have major responsibilities - not to mention an hour long presentation for the shareholders that took me all night to finish. It's a great honour, Shawn. I was chosen to do this - I went through four rounds of interviews - and the last thing I need at work today is _you_."

"Harsh," said Shawn. "But fair. Nice nut-shelling, by the way."

"Thank you. Just to be clear, then. No aliens. No antics. No flying saucers landing on the roof of Central Coast Pharmaceuticals."

"Wouldn't even if I could," his friend mumbled, sounding a little disgruntled.

"No phone calls from my grandmother. No pregnant cats. No fake emergencies of any kind."

"What about real emergencies? I'm not planning one," Shawn added hastily. "But it helps to be prepared."

Gus pulled out a Sharpie and grabbed Shawn's arm, since his hands were taken up with snow cones. On the inside of his best friend's wrist, he wrote three digits. "Call them, not me. I hear they're very helpful in a pinch."

"911," muttered Shawn. "Very funny."

"Still not a joke. And I'm not laughing," Gus replied with dignity.

**-x0x-**

On his return to the Psych office, Shawn was amazed to discover that Juliet had actually found Cal a respectable change of clothes which had nothing to do with zombies, Harry Potter or any other kind of fancy dress. She had also made him a mug of hot chocolate and a fine-looking sandwich. "How long were we gone?" he said cheerily.

"Long enough," Juliet replied, eyeing the cones. "Is one of those for me?"

"Bubblegum pink, like your beautiful lips." He passed it over and she smiled at his outrageous flattery. "Green for our alien friend. No nutritional value, Cal, I'm afraid, but the apple syrup is delicious. Which leaves blue for me. Why _is_ raspberry blue?" he asked Gus, who was picking up papers from his desk and shoving them into a folder. "I've never understood that."

"Maybe it's cold," Cal volunteered.

Shawn turned and stared at him. "That's intriguing..."

"I have to go." Gus finished his packing and tugged on his sample case. "You're good here, _right_?" There was an ominous weight to the last word. Juliet raised her eyebrows and glanced from one man to the other.

"All good," Shawn replied hastily. "Jules and I can handle this. We're the dream team; partners in love _and_ law enforcement."

"Actually..." Juliet looked at her watch. "I need to get showered and ready for work, so it looks like you're on your own, _partner._ Sorry," she added, when Shawn's face fell. "Duty calls. And Carlton, if I don't get there on time. He's a stickler for punctuality; you know that."

"What? Yes, of course. And I'm fine. We, I mean; we'll be fine - won't we, Cal? Just two guys eating snow cones and sharing a sandwich... well, one strikingly handsome guy and his brand new alien friend. Is that a pickle?" He knew he was rambling. Juliet knew it too, by the way she wrinkled her brow. He could have convinced her to stay... _but I'm a grown-ass man, and this is my responsibility._

Cal's lips were already stained and his eyes were wide. He stared at the cone in his hand. "I like green ice." He seemed happy at last, and that was encouraging.

"See?" Shawn spread his arms to show that he had all the evidence he needed. _Alien babysitter - check._ Just add it to his ever-expanding résumé. "I got this. We'll take a psychic trip down Memory Lane and see what we can find out about these government characters and where you came from, hey Cal?"

"Okay. But call me if there's anything you need," Juliet instructed Shawn, sounding a little wary. Meanwhile, Gus gave Shawn a look that clearly implied he was trying to shine a very different message to his friend.

Shawn tapped the number on his wrist and favoured Gus with a confident smile that was flawless in its fake sincerity. "911. Got it - but I won't need it. Go slay those pharmaceutical dragons with your speech, buddy. I can do this on my own."

_No problem._


	7. Chapter 7

_**"O captain! My captain!"  
** _ _**(Walt Whitman. Quoted in: 'Dead Poets Society'.)** _

**Now...**

Shawn had never been the kind of person who took a backseat in life and let things flow around him. His instinct for action, though often misguided, was always compelling. Lying on the deck, with his head still rattling from Bluto's punishment, he knew that he had two choices: give in or get up. _No contest._ He rolled over onto his knees, grabbed at Bluto's sleeve for support and clambered to his feet, letting go as soon as he felt steady enough to do so. Still afraid to speak, he offered up a mute pantomime of apology. Then he stepped back and shrugged, as if to say: _what next?_

Bluto seemed surprised by his resilience. "Follow me," he growled. "We're nearly at the captain's cabin. Then you'll be _her_ problem, not mine. And don't even think about runnin' away." He gave a yellow, toothy smile. "There's no place to go on this bucket where I won't find you. I know all the deep, dark hidey-holes."

That merited a solid seven out of ten for creepiness. Shawn wobbled along behind the man, trying hard not to lose his footing and pitch right over the rail. He counted two more lifeboats, then an empty space where one was missing. Judging by the motion of the ship, he and Bluto appeared to be heading forwards on the left - no, the _port_ side, he remembered, proud of this tiny achievement. Maybe Henry Spencer hadn't managed to instil a love of fishing in his son but, as it turned out, there was still a useful payoff from all those dull excursions.

Feeling bolder by the second, Shawn risked another question. Something had been bugging him ever since they left the cabin, and curiosity always won out over fear in the end. "It's pretty quiet out here. Where's the crew? Wait, don't tell me - they're cursed, right? Stole an ancient treasure and now they look like skeletons in the moonlight?" When Bluto turned and glared at him, he swallowed, half-believing his own jest for a moment. "Parlay?" he quipped, with a shaky grin and a passable Jack Sparrow imitation.

"You think you're such a comedian. But 'cursed' ain't far from the truth of it." Bluto chose not to elaborate on this disturbing remark. His scowl deepened. "Here's the punchline. There's a skeleton crew on duty but they ain't no ghosts. It's chow time, is all."

"Oooh..." Shawn raised his eyebrows hopefully. "I could eat."

"You could hold your tongue."

"I could try, yes. Don't often succeed, though." He ducked his head as Bluto raised a threatening fist and the bruise on his cheek pulsed an urgent warning. "Good point, well made. I'll be shutting up now. If you hear a growl, it's only my stomach, okay? The last thing I remember eating was a raspberry snow cone - Jules wouldn't let me have a burrito - and I don't even remember when that was. Could have been this morning. Could have been three days ago. I might be fading away from hunger as we speak... Oops. Sorry." Shawn clapped a hand to his own mouth. "Mm hmph. Mm hm-hm."

With a snort, Bluto grabbed him by the collar again and steered him through a nearby doorway, using Shawn's body weight to force it open.

"You're welcome," the fake psychic muttered, as he was propelled ignominiously along yet another passageway. His eyes darted from left to right, scanning as many details as possible. He was still uncertain as to the type of ship they were on. It was certainly not a military ship - no flags, no guns, and no sign of Steven Seagal under siege. Nor did it appear to be a typical freighter, unless the bulk of the cargo was secured below. They passed one door labelled 'Sample Room' and another bearing the nameplate: 'Doctor Seely'. Shawn began to suspect that he was actually on a research vessel of some kind - or possibly a floating hospital - but that made no sense at all to his muddled brain. Time to push his luck a little further with the walking gorilla.

He raised a tentative finger to his head. "I sense that you are searching for something," he ventured, trying to sound confident in his assertion.

Bluto's stride never faltered. He yanked Shawn up a flight of metal stairs, little caring how often his prisoner stumbled. "And I sense you're clutchin' at straws. Try that garbage on the captain and she'll soon shut you down. That's a friendly warnin'."

"Friendly. Riiight." Being 'shut down' did not sound particularly pleasant. Shawn pursed his lips in frustration, just as they arrived at a heavy metal door that blocked all further passage. This door had a nameplate too. "Captain Yolanta Bale," he read out loud.

"That's Captain Bale to you." Apparently, Bluto had decided that Shawn needed some kind of lesson in maritime manners. "Not ma'am or miss, nor Yoly neither. Not unless you want to feel the lash..."

"Of her whip?" Shawn said nervously.

"Of her tongue." The bearded man let out a hoarse laugh that made Shawn jump. "This ain't Cutthroat Island. Just the Copernicus." He knocked on the door. When a muffled command came from inside, he opened the cabin door but faltered on the threshold, pinning Shawn in front of him like a human shield, even though he towered over the shorter man.

 _You're scared of her too,_ Shawn thought with horrified fascination. What kind of woman _was_ this Captain Bale, if she could intimidate someone as gnarly as Bluto? Was she the person who had kidnapped him? And was he finally about to get some answers? The thought didn't thrill him as much as it would have done a few moments ago.

"Oh, grow a spine, why don't you?" said a stern voice. "Are you coming in or do I have to drag you? No," the captain added, stepping forward. "Not both of you. Just... well, whatever your name is."

"Shawn Spencer." He held out his hand to the tall, dark woman, even as he found himself arrested by her steely gaze. "I'm a psy..." Bluto nudged him and he swallowed the word in one gulp, like a cold piece of liver. "I mean, _excited_ to meet you at last."

"I doubt it." Captain Bale's handshake was strong yet impersonal. It was also very brief. She pulled Shawn into the room and then let go. Bluto took this opportunity to beat a hasty retreat, closing the door behind him with a bang that made his captain frown. "But at least you have more manners than the hairy oaf who brought you here. That's a good start." She pointed to a chair and Shawn sat down abruptly, snatching at a small cushion and clutching it to his chest with his usual instinctive need for comfort. Captain Bale smirked. "Insecure?" she taunted him.

"It's just a habit," he muttered, flushing. The older woman stared down at him with her knowing eyes until he began to feel like a rodent facing off against a snake. Blinking quickly, he turned away and studied the sparsely furnished cabin - which took all of three seconds. Either the captain was down on her luck or she subscribed to the decorating theory that less was definitely more. His cushion and a single framed picture - her daughter, perhaps, or the captain herself as a child - were the only personal touches in the room.

The migraine that had receded for a while was threatening to return with a vengeance, but Shawn knew he needed to keep his head clear if he was going to survive this ridiculous situation. "Can _you_ tell me where I am, and what I'm doing here? I mean," he continued, unable to resist showing off the information he had already gleaned. "I sense I'm on a research vessel. But something really strange is going on. And I have no idea how I got here - or where my friend is. Dennis Gogolack? Kind of a big nerd, but harmless. We were both together when we woke up in your charming storage room. The lights are out down there, by the way, and I think I left the freezer door open, so your ice cream is probably melting. My bad. Anyway, then we got separated." He paused as something new occurred to him. "Funny thing is, I thought we were prisoners at the time - but no one locked us in. This is all very peculiar..." His rambling monologue faded away on a plaintive note.

Captain Bale was still regarding him coolly. "Finished?"

"Sorry. Yes." How _did_ she manage to make him feel so foolish? Even Lassiter could learn from her. In fact, the lanky detective would probably whip out his field book and take copious notes.

The captain folded her arms and sat down opposite him. There were only two seats in the room. Both were ugly and uncomfortable. Shawn set aside his cushion, rattled by her previous observation and the judgemental way she was still staring at him. "Sensed?" she said.

 _Whoops._ "Um, yeah." He took a deep breath. Maybe Bluto was wrong. "I'm a psychic, you see. For the..." _No, maybe not._ He should keep that card close to his chest until a more opportune moment. Always assuming he didn't just blurt it out, of course. Without Gus there to give him a warning poke or a slap, indiscretion was always a problem. Shawn dug his fingernails into his palm and tried harder. "For a detective agency. Totally private and confidential. No link to any other crime-solving institutions whatsoever. We've got an office and everything. It's pretty cool. I run it with my partner." _Stop talking,_ he urged himself. _Stop talking right now._

"This Dennis you spoke of?"

"Oh, no. He's just a friend. My partner's name is..." Shawn gave a weak smile. "Wilson T. Volleyball." Some habits were impossible to break. "He's my sounding board."

"Lucky man. Does _he_ get a word in edgeways?" The captain shook her head. "Psychic." She rolled the word around in her mouth as though it were distasteful. "There's no such thing. Which makes you a liar. And there are far too many liars on my ship already."

Now that was a strange observation; a spark that ignited a fuse in his brain. "I can prove it," Shawn said urgently. So no one was giving him any answers? Time to work things out for himself. He sat up straight and placed his middle finger against his temple. Closing his eyes for a moment, he focussed as hard as he could on all the elusive details he had gathered, stringing them together, one clue at a time, as he began to speak. "You're the captain of the Copernicus." Bluto had let that one slip. "But, at the same time, you're... not? Someone else is on board and they're making decisions without you." Bale hadn't known his name, or anything about him, which was odd, given Bluto's build-up of her character. Shawn opened his eyes and stared at her face, taking in the tight creases around her mouth and the hardness of her gaze. Suspicious and _hurt_ , perhaps, rather than angry? "You don't know who I am. You didn't bring me here, or my friend. Which means you're not the one who's in control - and that's the curse this ship is under."

"Stop it." Bale's voice was level but her neck and her jaw were rigid with the effort of maintaining her composure. Shawn could tell that he was on the right track, so he closed his eyes again and _pushed_ for more.

"I'm getting a name," he murmured. "Calvin? Calamity? Calamine lotion..." All at once, he was back on the beach with Jules and the enigmatic stranger. "No, that's too many letters. He's just... Cal. He's a visitor, brought in by the tide. Is he here too? Or did he escape? Escape _again_." Shawn's excitement was growing. "He was on this ship all along, wasn't he? But he found a way off - I can see a missing lifeboat on the port side - and then it all went wrong. I'm sensing he capsized... and washed up on the Santa Barbara shore. Aahh! The migraine was squeezing his skull by now. He held it at bay with sheer force of will and the pressure of his finger. "Tommy Lee Jones! Will Smith... Agents! Cal believed that he was being chased by government agents." Opening his eyes, Shawn held the captain's gaze and spoke with certainty. "He _was_ being chased. They're here, aren't they? You're not in charge; _oh_ no. They are - and that scares you. I can feel it." His hand fell back into his lap and he screwed up his eyes in genuine pain for a second. Then he raised his chin and faced her squarely, pale but defiant. "So tell me, _Captain_ , how did I do?"


	8. Chapter 8

_**"You have to let it all go, Neo. Fear, doubt and disbelief. Free your mind."  
** _ _**(From: 'The Matrix'.)** _

**Then...**

Shawn grabbed his gym bag from the trunk of Juliet's car and watched her pull away. He imagined how he might appear in her rear view mirror, dwindling in the distance until he disappeared from sight altogether. _Honey, I Shrunk the Boyfriend._ His grin was wistful. 'Boyfriend' had such a nice ring to it - but he missed Jules already. Now that they were finally together, every second apart felt like a second wasted.

"You've got it bad," Gus observed, from behind him.

"Dude!" Shawn spun round. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough. Spoiler alert - if you choose to kiss like that outside the office, people are going to notice."

"Spoiler alert," muttered Shawn, flushing bright pink. "Those _people_ can close their eyes."

Gus shrugged. "I didn't want to step out into traffic. Or, you know, bump into you by accident while you two were..."

"Okay, okay. I got it. Shouldn't you be leaving now?" Shawn folded his arms.

"I should and I am. Good luck with your alien."

"Sure. Thanks. Good luck with your ass-kissing."

Gus gave a smug grin and flicked his nose with his thumb as he sauntered over to the Blueberry. "Players don't need luck, Shawn. But thank you for the sentiment."

"Maybe I'll swing by later to catch your speech. What time are you going on stage?" Shawn's eyes shone with mischief. "I could bring Cal. Like an alien field trip! Earthlings in their natural environment..."

"Shawn, you _promised_."

"I know. You're right. I did. But I can't remember... does crossing your fingers make a promise stronger or cancel it... ow!" Shawn jumped back and rubbed the sore spot on his arm where Gus had just punched him. "Too hard, man. We've talked about this."

"Maybe we have." Gus yanked open the car door. "And maybe I was crossing _my_ fingers at the time."

Shawn's erratic sense of guilt was triggered at last by the hurt expression on his best friend's face. "That's fair," he admitted quietly, trying to smooth things over. It was always easier to rile people than to patch things up afterwards. And he did enjoy the riling - rileage? - _rilement_ so very much. "I'll see you tonight, buddy." He held up his hands and waggled his fingers so that Gus could see he really meant it this time. "I promise."

The Blueberry slipped into the early morning stream of commuter traffic, bearing Gus away to the parallel universe that was his ordinary life. Shawn hovered for a moment on the sidewalk, basking in the warm rays and pondering the strangeness of his day so far. Around him, Santa Barbara was coming alive, just as it did every morning - rather like the cheerful opening scene of a musical. Alien or not (and it had to be _not_ , surely?), Cal's very presence distorted that familiar world, bringing conspiracy and suspicion out of the shadows and into the daylight. Every person in a suit, on their way to some boring office job, morphed into a potential government agent in his mind. Every pair of eyes that glanced in Shawn's direction seemed to be watching him. 

"I'm in the Matrix," Shawn muttered to himself, trying to diffuse the horrible sensation with a light-hearted movie reference, and only succceeding in making himself feel even more uneasy. If he could no longer trust the evidence of his own eyes, then how was he supposed to function?

 _Look past the illusion. See the truth,_ said Laurence Fishburne in his head.

Shawn narrowed his eyes and concentrated...

The middle-aged man in the black suit over by the railing had a communication device in his hand and a dark frown on his face. _No. Look closer._ The cell phone was ringing. The picture on the screen was a small child, laughing. As he glanced down to answer it, the man's frown cleared and a smile broke out, like sunshine through the clouds. "There you are," he told the person on the other end. "I was getting worried..."

The woman sitting on a bench seemed out of place, like a chartered accountant dropped in the middle of a clown convention. Her posture was stiff and her pose unnatural. She hardly moved. _No. Look again._ There was a redness around her eyes that meant she had been crying. The clothes she was wearing were wrinkled, suggesting that she hadn't been to bed. She twisted the ring on her finger without knowing what she did, yet the forced nature of her upright posture spoke of new determination in the wake of disillusionment. "You'll be alright," Shawn whispered, fighting off the unexpected urge to cross the street and say it to her face.

An itch in his shoulder blades made him turn. The young man at the hot dog stand _was_ staring at him. _No. Look back._ Unkempt hair, greasy forehead, dirty apron - he had been there yesterday as well, and Shawn had skirted past him, clearly telegraphing his own distaste at the vendor's unsanitary appearance. No juicy hot dog was worth the risk. And that would explain the evil look he was getting in return right now...

Enough.

Shawn took a deep breath to steady himself, feeling more than a little foolish. The world was just as it should be. _He_ was the only problem - and hence, not a problem at all. "Mind over matter," he sang to himself as he headed back indoors. "I'm the master of my mind, so nothing matters..."

He was met by a toothy green alien smile. "You came back," Cal said, full of relief.

"Well - yes. It _is_ my office, after all, and I have nowhere else to go right now. Besides, we really need to talk."

"But you've been talking ever since I met you."

Was the guy really that clueless? _Is this all an act of some kind?_ Shawn gave a heavy sigh, slung his bag into the closet and sat down at his desk. Then he opened his laptop and pulled it towards him. Things were about to get scientific, and he was hyper aware of his inadequacy in that area. Usually, he relied on Gus for translations. Time to tag in Google as his alternate.

"So, outer space. Pretty big, right? Which part of it do you call home?" he said to Cal as he surreptitiously opened the browser page. The alien was busy deconstructing his sandwich, pulling off the top half and spreading the contents all over his plate so that he could study them individually, like some kind of experiment instead of the well-made and delicious snack that it used to be.

"My home was lost to me long ago. I'm a traveller now."

"Like Doctor Who?" Shawn offered brightly. Cal's blank look was predictable and so he sailed on with his next question. "Do you remember where it was? Your lost home?" If he could learn more about Cal's fantasy, maybe he would find some clues to the truth; little seeds of reality that spawned the madness.

"Why? So you can look for it on your device? Even if I wanted to describe the place where it existed, you could never understand my explanation."

Shawn tried not to feel too offended. In the back of his mind, he remembered his brief stint as a tour guide at the Observatory. Bamboozling the general public with scientific nonsense was a hoot, but he knew that Cal would not be fooled so easily. "Guess you've got me pegged. Every genius has their weak spot." He paused, as a bright new thought occurred to him. Google could suck it. He had a much better substitute on the bench. "Wait... I do know someone who could help us."

"Too many people," Cal said moodily, but Shawn's phone was already in his hand and he was dialling.

"Maybe so, but I think you'll like this friend of mine. And I _know_ he's going to like you. In fact, I'm just about to make his day..."


	9. Chapter 9

_**"Maybe we can help each other. You know things I don't know, I know things you don't know."  
** _ _**(From: 'Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen'.)** _

**Now...**

Captain Bale rose to her feet in one swift, angry motion, like a tigress. She glared down at Shawn and he shrank back involuntarily but refused to break eye contact. He knew he had scored a major bullseye by the fierce way she reacted.

"This is a trick. You're one of _them_."

"Really?" He channelled every ounce of the frustration and weariness that he was feeling and poured it into that one stubborn word. "Have you _seen_ me? Do I look like some government stiff? You may not believe in psychics, Captain, but you can believe in me. I know what I know. And you know that I'm right."

Slowly, she sat down again. Instinctively, her gaze strayed to the nearby photograph - an imperceptible motion but Shawn still caught it. "Oh," he gasped, hardly needing to fake the fact that this new revelation caused him additional discomfort. He bent over, milking the moment for all it was worth in an effort to cover his genuine distress. "Oh, the poor girl."

Bale stiffened. "What?"

"Your daughter." For a moment, he relaxed his face and gave a dreamy smile, as though he were looking back in time. "Just like you, when you were her age." Then he winced, and clapped his wrists together, curling his fingers. "Taken... She's been taken." That _had_ to be it. Like wildfire, connections were burning through his brain; tiny sparks that blew together into a raging inferno of certainty. Maybe this was how it would feel to be truly psychic, if such a thing were possible. Or maybe the migraine was driving him mad. Either way, what choice did he have but to run with it? Shawn dropped his head and hunched his shoulders like a frightened captive, even as the world tilted around him unnervingly. "I'm so sorry, Captain. Now I understand..."

His voice trailed off. A hand touched his arm. It made him jump, and he almost lost the contents of his stomach. "Does it hurt this way every time?" Bale asked him, deeply concerned.

"No," Shawn mumbled. "Too vivid. Headache..."

She guided him out of the chair and led him over to her bunk. _Resistance is futile._ He sank down onto the lumpy mattress with infinite gratitude. _I feel like an angel baby..._ The half-remembered phrase drifted through his mind as he closed his eyes, unable to play this game anymore until he had rested. "Jus' for a moment," he whispered. "Got to find..."

"I know." The captain's grim manner was starting to seem oddly comforting. "Sleep first. I won't let anyone disturb you. And trust me, we'll be talking again when you feel better - _psychic._ "

 _Score a point for sheer dumb luck and observation,_ Shawn thought deliriously as he turned on his side and pulled in his knees. Slowly, the migraine settled too and began to drain away. "'Kay. That'll be fun. I'll look forward to it. Night-night, Captain Yoly..."

**-x0x-**

Time passed by unnoticed. Dreams, both good and bad, eluded him. In the end, Shawn was dragged out of a dull sleep by a series of intrusive sounds: an impatient knock at the door and a low, urgent conversation, followed by a metallic groan and a click. When he finally forced his eyelids to crack open, he found that he was alone in the room. Sitting up gingerly, he was relieved to discover that his headache was gone too, leaving him worn out but able to function again.

Even though he knew all too well what the click meant, he hopped off the bed and crossed over to the door, confirming his theory in a matter of seconds. "Locked in," he sighed. For whose benefit? Was this the captain's way of keeping her promise? Or had his 'visions' been way off base after all? Was she the villain or the victim in this wild adventure?

Should he stay put or try to break out?

"Yeah, right. Just call me the Amazing Shawndini." Without Gus's credit card or any other handy lock-picking tool on his person, Shawn knew perfectly well that he was going nowhere right now. He would have to trust that Captain Bale was a woman of her word.

Sitting back down on the bed, he reached out and picked up the photograph of her daughter, studying it carefully - not only because he was looking for clues, but also because she was smiling so infectiously that he could not keep the corners of his mouth from curling upwards too.

The young girl appeared to be in her early teens. She had long, wavy black hair and she was wearing a red hoodie. On top of the hoodie was a life-jacket, emblazoned with the name of the ship. There was a man's arm around the girl's shoulder, but either the photo had been cropped or the owner of that floating limb was folded away out of sight. Shawn considered pulling the frame apart but he was too afraid that Captain Bale might return at any moment. Okay, so clearly the girl was used to being on board the Copernicus. Did she travel with her mother all the time - and did that mean she was somewhere on the ship right now? It would make a strange kind of sense.

Still musing on this, he returned the photograph to its spot on the beside cabinet, with perfect attention to angle and placement. He didn't want Bale to think he had been snooping. Not that there was anything else to snoop through. Every drawer that he opened was empty, and every surface was devoid of even the most basic personal items.

"Lightbulb!" Shawn crowed, as he had yet another revelation.

This was _not_ Bale's original cabin, even though her name was on the door - taunting her, most likely, since she had obviously been relegated to this dump by someone who considered him-or-herself to be far more important. "And all they let you bring was a picture of your daughter, to remind you of their power over you," he mused out loud, just as the lock clicked open and the captain slipped back into the room. "Hey there. What did I miss?"

Bale ignored his flippant question, countering it with one of her own. "Are you better now, Mister Spencer?"

He shrugged. "I'm good. How long was I asleep?"

"Two hours, more or less."

Staring at her now, he had a flash of how it must have been - his unconscious body curled up on the bed, and the captain watching over him. Watching him sleep... Shawn gave an involuntary shiver. How had he let himself get into such a helpless state?

"You were perfectly safe," the captain said with surprising perception.

"Oh, sure, I know. You locked me in here. Thanks for that. Look, Captain - can we stop dancing around each other now?"

Bale regarded him calmly. "I don't dance."

"Was that a joke?" He snorted. "You made a joke! That's a real step forward in our relationship, Yoly."

"Call me that one more time..."

"But it's your name. And it's a nice one. Far less stern than Captain, or Bale. Or Captain Yolanta Bale. So, you're Yoly and I'm Shawn. Friends, on a first name basis." He held out his hand, with a flash of his winning smile. When she took it, and shook it, he held on tight. His body grew taut and he closed his eyes. "She's here..."

The captain yanked her hand out of his grip and backed up against the door. "You can see that?"

His green eyes opened wide. "I can; so clearly. She's safe, but scared."

"And the others?" Captain Bale asked breathlessly.

_Others?_

Shawn swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. "Yes, the others too." A skeleton crew, Bluto had said to him, using a phrase that was heavy with the weight of hidden meaning. _How did I miss that?_ Only a few like him, left to run the ship - not because they were eating their evening meal, but because... "This is crazy. How many?"

"All of the research team. Half of my crew. That's thirty in total and Maya makes thirty one." There was a look of desperation in the captain's eyes, but her bearing remained steady. "You called the men agents before, and that's who they claim to be, but I say they're pirates. They gave me no choice. I'm a prisoner too, on my own vessel, trapped by my conscience." She took up his hand again. "Help me?"

"Said one prisoner to the other? Look," he faltered. "I'll try. But I haven't even found my friend yet - or Cal, if he's here - and I still don't know what happened to me before I got stuck on this rust bucket... I mean, your lovely ship. My visions are coming back, sure, but it's slow going and they're still patchy. If you want _me_ to help _you_ then we work as a team, okay? Shawn and Yoly. That's non-negotiable."

"Yes," said the captain slowly. "Yes, I think your offer is acceptable." She gave a tentative smile; the first that he had seen from her. "Yoly and Shawn..."


	10. Chapter 10

_**"In fact, you talk all the time. It's like a storm when you're around."  
(From: 'Waterworld'.)** _

**Then...**

Since Gus had already driven off in the Blueberry, and his motorbike was currently parked in front of Juliet's place, Shawn reasoned to himself that this was the perfect opportunity to dip into the Psych kitty and treat his new faux-alien buddy to a scenic cab ride across town. Besides, walking all the way to Dennis's upmarket neighbourhood was a far less attractive option. Not to mention the fact that Shawn was still a little tired from his morning run - a state that he would be milking for the rest of the day, if he could get away with it.

The little cash tin was located in the bottom drawer of Gus's desk (previously locked), inside a large puzzle box (now mysteriously broken) that lay beneath a spare pair of socks, two Pez dispensers (recently emptied) and a sign that read 'Beware of the leopard'. Shawn retrieved the tin with a flourish and snagged the key from its own 'secret' hiding place inside the base of the three-hole punch.

The tin held $20 and a message, scribbled two days ago by his own fair hand. _I O petty cash $30. Thx for the snax. Shawn Spencer._ Dutifully, he altered the '3' to a '5' and stuffed the remaining note in his pocket.

He had already changed out of his running gear, shoving it haphazardly into his gym bag, where it would probably stay for at least a week. Persuading Cal to leave the safety of the Psych office seemed as though it might require a bit more finesse, but that was something Shawn knew (and cared) little about. As far as he was concerned, employing subtlety was pretty much akin to being able to spell it. Instead, as always, he took the easy road and opted for a Spencer classic that he liked to call the Whirlwind. The clue to this technique was very much in the name.

"Cal," he said, grabbing the alien by his arm and dragging him to his feet in one surprisingly fluid movement. "I've got a very strong sense that you and Dennis are going to be great friends. And my psychic intuition never fails. Come on!"

Before Cal had a second to register what was happening to him, he was out of the door and standing on the sidewalk with a grinning Shawn beside him. "I...I am?"

"Oh yes. He's got all this tech - and some really cool alien stuff. He's dying to meet you. Practically begged me to bring you over."

"Wny couldn't he come here?"

The shrug that Shawn gave in return was suspiciously careless. "He has better snacks. Plus, you know, we may need to do some only very slightly illegal hacking-type stuff if we're going to help you, and Gus won't let me do that on his laptop any more... oh, hey! Look, here's the taxi."

Cal spent the next twenty minutes in bewildered silence, staring out of the car window and watching the sun-drenched Mediterranean style architecture roll by, as Shawn, who barely drew breath, narrated the entire length of their journey with local facts and personal anecdotes, _most_ of which were true. "I used to be a tour guide at Graceland," he boasted proudly. "That's where Elvis lived. Maybe he's with you guys now?"

"Who's Elvis?"

"Hm." Shawn pulled a wry face. "Never mind. I also worked at the Observatory for a week, so I'm pretty _au fait_ with the universe. That was for a case, though. I was working undercover, which I do from time to time - and I have to say, I've got a real knack for it. I'm a chameleon... just like the song says." Cal continued to look blank but Shawn didn't notice and blundered on cheerfully, caught up in his storytelling. "Anyway, it all started when Lassie - that's Juliet's partner - got falling down drunk..."

Being trapped in a small metal cage with the garrulous detective was clearly a strain on Cal's already overstretched nerves. As soon as the taxi came to a halt, he leapt out, taking deep gulps of fresh warm air.

Shawn paid the driver, tipping him generously with everything they had left, then scooted around to join Cal and slapped him on the back. "Fun ride! Thanks, man. We should do that again some time."

"Why?" Cal muttered miserably, nibbling at the skin around his shredded nails.

"Or not." Shawn began to suspect that his Whirlwind technique may have overshot its mark and done some peripheral damage. Either that, or he had simply been talking _way_ too much on the ride over. He wasn't blind to his faults; he just liked to ignore them as much as he could. Self-esteem was healthy, right? "I'm sorry," he said with absolute honesty. "Feel free to stop me next time.

"How?" Cal's expression was rueful.

Shawn nodded. "That's fair. I get carried away when I'm excited. But there's one more thing you'll learn about me if you give me a chance. I'm really good at what I do. And I _am_ going to help you, Cal. On that, you have my word." He held out his hand. "Wait - no. _Two_ words. 'I promise.' That's all."

Cal regarded him suspiciously. At the same time, the front door opened to reveal Dennis Gogolack's eager, smiling face. Shawn couldn't help noticing that it fell a little when his friend took a closer look at their 'Starman'.

"Who were you expecting? Jeff Bridges?" Shawn challenged Dennis with a grin that said: _I know you were._

"What? No! Come in, come in. Molly's making pancakes, if you're hungry?" He glanced at Cal. "Or, um, _do_ you eat human food?"

"I had green ice," Cal said helpfully, baring his teeth, which were still stained.

"And a deconstructed sandwich," Shawn put in. "But yeah, we could eat. In fact, I'm starving..."

**-x0x-**

Less than ten minutes later, the fake psychic found himself facing a pleasingly high stack of pancakes that was slathered in syrup and topped with delicious fruit. Offering heartfelt thanks to Molly, he dove in with gusto. At the same time, he kept one eye on Dennis, who had already pinned Cal in a corner and was questioning him with all the intensity that a sci-fi geek encountering a potential alien could muster. "Which is a _lot_ ," Shawn mumbled to himself around a mouthful of blueberries. Personally, he was still unconvinced by Cal's claim. Dennis appeared to be far more open-minded - or should that be gullible? Watching the movement of their lips, Shawn followed their quiet conversation for a while.

Molly sat down beside him, a bowl of breakfast cereal in her hand. "Where did you find this guy?"

"Would you believe he washed up on shore at my feet when I was out for an early morning run with my girlfriend?" Shawn offered proudly.

"I believe he washed up on shore," retorted Molly, with a smile. She was getting to know the Psych boys and their antics pretty well. Ever since the UFO case, they often came round to play video games or raid the Gogolack fridge.

"Funny." He elbowed her in the ribs.

"I thought so. No Gus today?"

"He's working." Shawn's nonchalant tone was ever-so-slightly off. "Big presentation."

"Oh, at his real job?"

"Psych is his real job. He just likes to earn a bit of pocket money on the side. And, you know, I let him 'cos it makes him happy."

"You let him because he pays for everything."

Shawn shrugged. "And that makes him happy. Like I said."

Molly folded her arms and glared at him but there was a certain fondness in her tone as she berated him. "Shawn Spencer, one of these days you'll have to learn to stand on your own two feet."

He hopped off the stool and then looked down. "Like this, you mean? Nailed it."

The joke was terrible and it earned him a pitying look. "You know _exactly_ what I mean."

"Yes, _Mom_ ," he chuckled, and darted out of reach before Molly could swat him with her spoon. Rescuing the plate of pancakes, he carried it over to where Dennis and Cal were still deep in conversation. "So, fellas - what have we learned so far?"

"Don't you know?" Cal said curiously. "I thought you were..."

"Psychically eavesdropping? Oh, well, of course. I'm just being polite." Shawn set the plate down again on a nearby countertop and raised his finger to his temple. "Okay..." He snuck a surreptitious glance at Dennis, who was starry-eyed and beaming. "I sense that Dennis believes your story. You told him you've been here on Earth for two years - and, in all that time, you've hardly seen anything. That's a real shame," he put in, by way of a sidebar. "There's so much you're missing. Las Vegas - I think you'd like it there. Disneyworld. Bigfoot. The pyramids..."

"Ancient alien landing sites, you mean," said Dennis.

"Sure. Why not?" Shawn nodded. "I've heard it both ways. My point is..." He tried to remember his point. "Those government guys have kept you prisoner for the longest time. What exactly do they want from you? I mean, clearly we're not talking alien autopsy here..."

Dennis frowned at his insensitivity, making Shawn flush.

"Sorry, bad example. But you get my point, right? If they wanted to kill you, they'd have done it by now. So, they want... information? The location of your spaceship...?" He watched Cal closely as he spoke, then closed his eyes, wincing a little for dramatic effect. "Yes, that's it! They're trying to find out how you got here." _At least, that's what you believe. The real question is, do they think you're an alien too? Or is this about something else entirely?_

"I never told them where it is," Cal declared emphatically.

Shawn opened his eyes again and patted the alien on his back. "Of course you didn't. That was very brave of you."

"But wait - now _you_ know, don't you? I mean, you must be able to read my mind."

"Oh," said Shawn. "Well..."

Cal was getting quite worked up. "So you mustn't let them find you. If they know you know..."

"Hey!" Shawn held up his hands. "No problem. Like you said before - in the playoffs, a psychic detective will always triumph against the men in black."

"I don't think I said _that_."

"I was paraphrasing. My point is, your secret is perfectly safe with me." _No earthly way to tell them what I don't even know._ "Plus - and I say this with absolute confidence - I highly doubt some government agency has tailed our cab all the way here from the beach and is listening through the keyhole as we speak..."

All four of them jumped when the doorbell rang.

"...but then, of course, I have been known to make the _odd_ mistake," Shawn finished unhappily.


	11. Chapter 11

_**"To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other and to feel. That is the purpose of life."  
** _ _**(From: 'The Secret Life of Walter Mitty'.)** _

**Now...**

"The first thing we need," said Yoly, "is a plan."

Shawn pulled a sour face. "Mehhh."

"You don't agree?" The captain placed her fists on her hips, striking a pose that was absurdly reminiscent of Peter Pan facing off against the pirates.

"It's just - don't laugh - I tend to find that 'winging it' works pretty well for me."

"And that's why you're here, I suppose? Stuck on my ship without a clue as to how you got here or where your friend is? Because you were 'winging it'?"

He had to admit, she did make an excellent point. "So, this plan of yours..."

"I don't have one yet." Yoly shook her head regretfully. "If I did, I would have put it into action days ago."

Shawn sat back down on the bed and patted the space beside him. Stubbornly, the captain remained standing, but her arms did drop and her face fell with them. "I miss my daughter," she admitted in a rare moment of vulnerability. "I can't imagine what she must be feeling. Why she thinks I haven't come for her."

And there it was, like a gift. A plan, fully formed and shining in his mind. "Where are they keeping her?" Shawn asked gently. "I couldn't tell in my vision."

"Everyone else is being held deep in the belly of the ship. But Maya is locked in her own cabin, next to my old one. There's a guard on her twenty four hours a day. They take it in six hour shifts. I've been spying on them," Yoly admitted. "But I can't get close enough for a rescue attempt. And none of the others will help me. They're afraid of what might happen to the rest of the crew, or the research team, if we make our captors angry." She shrugged. "Everyone has friends down there. How can I blame them when I have the very same fear?"

"Why aren't you locked up?" Shawn asked curiously.

"Why do you think, psychic?" Talking about her daughter's situation had made the captain's hackles rise again.

Shawn tilted his head, considering her words. His voice remained even, his tone hypnotic. "I think they need you. They're not sailors. They can't run this tub without you. And they think you won't do anything to jeopardise the safety of the people that you care about. They're wrong, of course. There are times when you simply have to take that risk, however scary it is. Because it's the only way to make things right again." Reaching out, he grabbed the captain's hand and squeezed it. "Your daughter knows that," he murmured softly. "Trust me."

Yoly swallowed. "You're crazy."

"Like a fox," he grinned. "And I know a head detective who'd agree with you. But I'm telling the truth, and you know that I'm right - right? I've seen more than my fair share of movies about hostage situations. I've even been there myself, okay, more than once - I mean dealing with gun-toting bad guys, not starring in an actual movie - and it always ends surprisingly well. Especially the bank. The payoff for that one was awesome. We're talking a bad guy in a vent, a hot dog delivery system and a golden walk along the beach with Juliet." The memory was precious and he savoured it for a moment. "Not a hair on my best friend's sweet, sweet head was harmed in the process. Don't you get it? This can't go on - it' s just plain wrong, Yoly. You want to see your daughter? Fine. Let's go see her together." He rose to his feet and confronted her squarely. "That's what Bruce Willis would do."

**-x0x-**

The ship was a maze, with the threat of danger lurking around every corner. As they tiptoed down yet another ugly passageway, Shawn tried to explain about stealth mode, but Yoly was no ninja. "I prefer the direct approach."

"I can see that. But sometimes, you need to move in squiggly lines." He paused. "Okay, that sounded kinda stupid when I said it out loud."

"No. I understand. You're talking about the unexpected. The element of surprise."

"Well, if you're going to use fancy words..."

The captain paused and he stumbled to a halt beside her. "Do you always hide yourself like this, Shawn Spencer?"

He blushed. "I don't know what you mean. I'm right here. You can see me."

"Yes. Yes, I can."

Shawn didn't doubt that. Her dark eyes were penetrating. "Look," he mumbled at last, feeling oddly defensive. "The psychic stuff... it takes up an awful lot of room in here." He tapped his skull. "I have to be... selective about the things I hold onto, or my brain would probably explode. Grey matter, everywhere. Freaky, right?"

"That's a convenient explanation. Or maybe the Fool is a mask you like to hide behind."

"We all wear a mask, _Captain_."

" _Touché._ " Yoly shrugged. "I'm just making an observation."

"Yes, well, don't." He strode ahead, letting his back do the talking for a while, until he came to a crossroads and faltered.

"Left," said Yoly quietly. "And I'm sorry. I had no right to judge you."

"About the cushion thing?" It was both a joke and a deflection. Yoly saw that too, and was wise enough to let it pass. She nodded, and all was well between them once again. Life was too short, and the danger too real, for holding onto grudges. "Are we nearly there?" Shawn continued. "Or do these passages run in a loop, like something out of Labyrinth? Should I expect David Bowie around the next corner?"

"Not unless he's guarding the door to my daughter's cabin. We're close now. Be quiet." Yoly set her finger to her lips, not trusting him to heed her words.

They inched along, close to the wall. When they reached the end, Shawn placed his hand against the captain's chest, motioning her to stay put. "Welcome to my cunning plan," he breathed in her ear. "When the moment comes, free your daughter and head for the radio room. Call the coastguard and tell them what's happened. Ask for Barbara Dunlap - got that? And give her my name. That should help. Then hide, okay - both of you - in the safest place that you can find."

" _What_ moment?" Yoly stared at him, half in hope and half in horror.

"Oh..." Shawn took in a ragged gulp of stale air, trying to prepare himself. It had seemed like such a heroic idea, back in the relative safety of the captain's cabin. Now it just seemed reckless and self-defeating. Juliet would certainly have told him as much, and begged him to reconsider. He was no Bruce Willis after all (though his hairline, at least, was superior). Nor was this a movie, with a happy ending guaranteed. But he couldn't back down. Not with Yoly's dark eyes so full of expectation. "You'll know it when you see it. Good luck, Captain!"

And quickly, before he could change his mind, he stepped around the corner.

.


	12. Chapter 12

_**"Sometimes fear is the appropriate response."  
** _ _**(From: '9'.)** _

**Then...**

Shawn grabbed hold of Cal's arm and dropped to the floor, taking the alien with him. "Don't answer that," he hissed.

"But it's my house." Dennis looked perturbed. "Won't they suspect something if I don't answer the door? My car's outside - they know I'm here."

The point was a good one and Shawn pulled a face. "Okay, maybe. But what will you say if they ask you...?"

"What - ask me if I'm harbouring an alien?"

"And a rogue psychic, yes."

"I'll say: 'Hey, come inside, guys. They're in the kitchen, hiding behind my breakfast bar.'" Dennis shook his head in disgust. "Just how naïve do you think I am, Shawn? I've been training for this moment my whole life. I've studied every episode of The X-Files, in detail. I own every back issue of Omni. I'm fully immersed in the Dark Web. I know what I'm doing."

Shawn wasn't so sure about that, but refrained from insulting his friend any further. Instead, he peeked over the counter top. "Dude. Where's your wife?"

While the two friends were dithering, Molly - who was eminently more practical - had taken it upon herself to act. Shawn motioned the others to stay put and crawled around the unit on his hands and knees, working his way across to the kitchen until he had a safe, angled view of the front door. "She's going to open it," he hissed. "Molly, stop!"

One hand flapped behind her back, waving him into silence. Shawn bit his lip and held his breath, feeling terribly uneasy. His real-life experience of government agents was spotty at best, ranging from the ridiculously muscled and immaculate treasury guy, Lars Ewing, to the villainous Tom Fong and his unwitting partner, Agent Driggs, who had chased Shawn and Gus in an actual helicopter, like something straight out of a Bourne movie. Did he trust them? No. They were stone-faced clones who were hard to read. Sometimes, they even flirted with your future girlfriend.

Was he afraid of them? Maybe...

The front door was comprised of a thick sheet of smoky glass in a dark frame. Shawn could just make out a shadowy figure. "Who's there?" called Molly.

"Delivery," said a nasal voice. "Need a signature."

Shawn waved both arms wildly in the universal signal for 'please, whatever you do, don't open the door to the dangerous stranger'. Yet again, Molly ignored him. She unhooked the chain, turned the handle... and smiled at the eager young man who stood on her doorstep, clutching a large brown parcel.

"Mrs. Gogolack?"

"That's me," she said merrily, turning ever so slightly to grin at Shawn over her shoulder.

The fake psychic passed a shaking hand across his damp brow and tried to look nonchalant. "False alarm," he relayed to Dennis and Cal with genuine relief.

Having given the young man her signature, Molly closed the door and strolled back to the kitchen with her parcel. "If you had bothered to look out of a window when the bell rang," she whispered to Shawn as she passed by, "you would have seen the delivery truck."

Shawn flushed. Such an obvious error was unlike him. Clearly, he was even more rattled by this whole situation than he had suspected. "Blueberries," he blurted out. "Too delicious. They distracted me. My psychic powers are very susceptible to blue fruit - strange but true. Gus is planning to make a study of it. Besides," he continued, as he scrambled to his feet. "The truck could easily have been a fake."

"And the skinny little guy could have been an agent in disguise?"

"Exactly." Shawn tried to recover his dignity. "You were so lucky that I... _we_ were here to protect you, just in case."

Molly chuckled. "If you need to hear it, Shawn, then absolutely. You're my hero. Thank you."

**-x0x-**

After a slightly more subdued end to breakfast, Molly headed off to work, still smiling broadly, and Dennis repaired to his formerly secret 'nerd closet' with Shawn and the pseudo-alien in tow. Cal's eyes grew wide when the shelf slid open to reveal the hidden room.

"I gotta ask," Shawn said. "You don't keep it open all the time? Now that Molly knows?"

Dennis shook his head, looking solemn. "Trust no one, Shawn. Apart from my wife, now - and you guys. Actually, Gus more than you, but still..."

"Thanks - I think."

"There's vital research on these babies," Dennis continued, striding across to his bank of monitors. "I can't risk it falling into the wrong hands. What if someone broke into our house and stole it? Who knows where it might end up?" 

"Plus they might steal your wizard's cloak," Shawn muttered, still nettled by the implication that he was less reliable than Gus. After all, who was here, helping Cal, when the alien needed it most? And who was swanning around all day at some pharmaceutical jolly, with snacks and pleasant conversation?

"Exactly!" Dennis nodded, totally failing to spot the insult.

Cal circled the room, looking impressed. Shawn couldn't help wondering what he was thinking. "Seen any T.V. since you got here?" he probed.

"T.V.?"

"Star Trek? Battlestar...? Never mind." Shawn shook his head quickly. "Cool collection, right?"

"You really are an expert," Cal said to Dennis. "I'm sorry. I thought Shawn was lying."

"Hey! What is this - insult-a-psychic day?" Shawn frowned as Dennis fired up his computer system, watched eagerly by Cal. "Wait a minute..." He pursed his lips, thinking hard. Cal appeared to believe that all these props were genuine alien gadgets - the blaster, the helmets, the VISOR. If he was truly from outer space, wouldn't he know for sure that they were fake?

Cal lifted the sonic screwdriver from its place of honour on the Doctor Who shelf, turning it around in his hand as he studied it carefully. "I'm not familiar with this particular culture," he admitted. "But I like it. Where did you find it?"

"He hopped in his TARDIS and picked it up at the nearest alien flea market," Shawn quipped, watching Cal's face keenly.

"I don't..." Cal shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Ignore him," Dennis advised. "He likes to pretend he's a sceptic sometimes, to look cool."

"Says the man who fooled his wife into thinking he was a jock for years." Shawn waved an incriminating hand around the room. "Need proof of that? Oh, wait - we're standing in it."

The two men paused and glared at each other, like wrestlers facing off before a bout. Dennis broke first. With a cheerful laugh, he slapped Shawn on the back. "Always fun arguing with you, buddy. You keep me on my toes."

"That's my job." Shawn's heartiness was just a little off key. "So, can we find out more about Cal, using your resources? Or, you know, a Speak and Spell? We need to get this guy home."

"Perhaps I can help you with that," said a deep voice behind them.

And here, at last, was the sight that Shawn had been dreading all along. A man in a dark suit, holding a large gun. "What, no shades?" he grumbled, turning on his heels and raising his hands in the air. Dennis swivelled around on his chair and followed suit. Cal just looked horrified.

Two more agents joined the first. They were practically twins; cartoon sidekicks with thick necks, solid faces and muscles that threatened to burst through their sleeves. Shawn gave an audible sigh. _Really? These guys are knocking it out of the park with their clichés. What's next - a black SUV with tinted windows?_

"That's the sweep finished, boss. No one here but these two geeks and the target. Nice playroom, _boys_ ," Sidekick Number One added in a snide tone that was far from complimentary.

Shawn couldn't keep his tongue still. Panic always affected him that way. "So, what? You're just going to take my alien friend and flashy-thing our memories into oblivion? We've watched the movie. We know how it works. But I have to warn you, my mind is not so easily subdued. I'm a psychic and I see you. I'll always see you."

"You're braver than you look, magic man." The first agent was older than his cohorts, with thick grey sideburns that were ridiculously out of proportion with his buzz-cut, making him look like some kind of evil chipmunk with its cheeks puffed out - if a chipmunk suddenly chose to wear a black suit and carry a firearm. _That_ was a scary thought, and it made Shawn pause for a moment. Then he shook his head to clear it.

"Depends entirely on how brave you _think_ I look," he bluffed, even as his brain scrambled to find a solution to this little problem of theirs.

"You won't get away with this," Dennis interrupted, sounding furious. "This is my house. You broke in. That's a crime."

The be-whiskered agent smiled, showing long teeth. "Let's just say I work around conventional legalities."

"Spin it any way you choose." Shawn shook his head. "Like my friend said, you're a criminal." He began to raise a finger to his head, but the agent waved his gun and frowned. "What, really? You think my finger is loaded? You're afraid of a single digit?" He gave a shrug. "Maybe you should be. I've brought down murderers with this thing. You don't know who you're messing with."

"Actually, I do. Even government agents know how to Google. Shawn Spencer, Psychic Detective to the Santa Barbara Police Department. Nice title. Catchy. Though I have to say - looking at the man, I find it very hard to believe the myth."

"Believe it, Jack," Shawn growled.

"Edgar."

"What?"

"Agent Edgar Meek. That's my name. Not Jack. I'll thank you to remember it."

"Gee, Edgar, I'll try." Shawn summoned up his most annoying smirk. "Meek - really? And you never thought about changing it? 'Cos you can do that, you know. And I'll give you some killer alternatives...."

Meek's jaw twitched. His knuckles grew white as he tightened his grip on the gun. "You are a very rude man."

"Said the pot to the kettle. Wait - did I get that right?"

"You did," said Dennis helpfully.

"Miraculous." Shawn gazed up at the corner of the ceiling, blinking fiercely, with a look on his face that was strangely intense. Then he turned his attention back to Agent Meek. He could feel Cal's hand clutching the back of his shirt, telegraphing the enormous weight of expectation on him. "Edgar. Eddie. _Can_ I call you Eddie? You're not taking him."

"I beg to differ, Mr. Spencer. Was that polite enough for you?" Meek shook his head. "You seem to think that you're in charge here."

With a flick of his fingers, the agent motioned his colleagues to move in. Swiftly, they scooped up the alien by his arms, so that poor Cal's feet were dangling above the floor. "I don't want to go back," he moaned. His hand refused to let go of Shawn's shirt and, as the two men carried Cal across the room, Shawn found himself stumbling after them.

"Stop!"

His voice held an unexpected note of authority that brought everything to a halt. _I gotta try that on Lassie,_ he thought in wonderment.

"What is it _now_ , Mr. Spencer?"

"You need me. I'll have to go with him."

All three agents laughed out loud; an unsettling noise that turned Shawn's stomach.

"Is that what you think?" said Meek.

"Yes, it is." _I also think that Jules is going to kill me - if I survive this mess._ He stood tall and faced the gleaming gun barrel that was now pointed directly at him. "I know what you need to know. I can find the location. Psychic, remember?" He was bluffing so very badly. Cal had warned him not to do the very thing that he was doing. But what choice did he have? _You could say nothing, idiot. Stay put and let them leave. Maybe they'd tie you up; maybe they'd rough you around a bit. But no, you gotta be the hero..._

"You need me too," said a fervent voice behind him. "I'm an expert."

"Dennis, no," he hissed. Second by second, this whole case was spiralling out of control.

Meek frowned deeply. Cal still hung in the arms of his captors. Shawn's chest was tight and his breath seemed reluctant to leave his body, but he kept his eyes clear of all doubt as he continued to stare the agent down. "You know I make sense."

"I know you're a pain in my ass. And it's a stretch to call that babble of yours any kind of sense. But Cal seems to like you and you do have an impressive record. Maybe there's some truth in what you say." Stepping forward, the agent grabbed him by his shoulder and rammed the gun into his cheek. "Mr. Spencer. I cordially invite you to shut up and come with me. Marcus, grab the 'expert'. I'm not leaving any witnesses to this debacle."

Dennis leapt up, knocking his chair over, as one of the thugs abandoned Cal to his partner and lunged towards him. A flurry ensued, that ended with the 'expert' on the floor, staring up at Marcus with a stunned expression. "Said I was coming," he mumbled. "So unnecessary..."

Edgar's grip was painful and Shawn's shoulder was beginning to ache. The agent dragged him from the room, leading the way to a back door that had been neatly removed from its hinges. Dennis groaned, but the sound was cut short. Shawn couldn't see his friend, but it wasn't hard to guess what had just happened.

Outside was a black SUV, just as Shawn had predicted. Meek yanked open the back door and climbed inside, pulling Shawn with him.

"You should know I get violently car-sick, Eddie. You might want to open a window or two..."

"Really?" Meek's chipmunk face gave nothing away. Instead, he bent down and rummaged in a metal box at his feet. Meanwhile, Marcus slid in beside them with a semi-conscious Dennis.

"Ow!" Shawn squeaked as Meek twisted his arm back and something stung him sharply. "Hey! Pointy things? No fair!"

Meek smiled at him, waving a syringe with an air of deep satisfaction. "There we go. Bluff or no bluff, I don't think car-sickness will be an issue. In fact, you won't even _remember_ the car."

His muscles were turning to jelly. His brain was turning to mush. "Wha...?"

"Sea-sickness, on the other hand..." The agent's voice grew faint. _Is he floating away - or am I?_ "That could really be a problem for you, Mr. Spencer."


	13. Chapter 13

_**"Run, Forrest, run!"  
** _ **_(From: 'Forrest Gump'.)_ **

**Now...**

Deep down inside - deep _deep_ down - Shawn was very much aware of the flaws in his character; the ones he liked to hide with sarcasm and tomfoolery. This uncomfortable self-knowledge was balanced, in part, by a fervent hope that he would always have the strength to be heroic when the need arose. To risk his own safety on behalf of another human being. Some (okay, Gus) might call it recklessness but when such criticism came from a guy who ran away screaming at the drop of a spooky hat, Shawn felt that he had reasonable grounds to ignore it and follow what he liked to call his better instincts. Sometimes the risk paid off.

Sometimes it didn't.

Right now, his heart was pounding in his chest like the flailing feet of the Irish guy from Riverdance, yet he forced himself to saunter along the passageway as though he hadn't a care in the world. He could almost _sense_ Yoly's desperation leaking around the corner. It drove him onward, even though Fake Gus was screaming at him: _Turn back, Shawn, you idiot!_

The plan was simple enough. He had seen it work a hundred times for Faceman on The A-Team. All he had to do was create enough of a crazy distraction to lure the guard away from Maya's door so that Yoly could sneak inside. Surely even he couldn't mess that up? Then Maya would be safe and Yoly could call for help. That was the best case scenario. Anything else was unthinkable - meaning he _chose_ not to think about it.

"Hey, can you help me?" he sang out. "I'm lookin' for the swimming pool. Can't seem to find..."

And then he froze as the rattling train of his thoughts ran right off the rails, leaving him speechless; his mouth hanging wide open.

Maya's guard was seven steps away and Shawn could see him clearly. He had a thick neck, a solid jaw and muscles that strained at his dark suit. He was hugely familiar - pun very much intended - and, for one ice-cold moment, Shawn could not remember why. Then, like a thunderclap, _everything_ came back to him; in a burst, in a rush, in a flood so overwhelming that it almost drove him to his knees. Almost, but not quite. He swallowed convulsively and leaned his hand on the nearest wall for support. "Oh, it's you. Fancy that. Marcus, wasn't it?"

How? How could he manage to speak so calmly? So many memories to process! So much to take in at once. Shawn closed his eyes and breathed deeply until the dizziness subsided.

"Withdrawal, right? That sucks." Marcus chuckled. It was not a pleasant sound. Nor was his sympathy genuine. "I guess you're feeling pretty bad."

No way of denying the accusation when he looked like a wrung-out dishcloth. Still, Shawn pushed outwards from the wall and recovered his balance with as much of his dignity as he could patch together from the shreds. "Do you have to sound so cheerful about it?"

Marcus shrugged. Then his eyes narrowed. "Wait - how'd you get out of the room?"

"What, the black hole where you left us?" Shawn looked thoughtful. Stepping closer, he raised a finger halfway to his head, feeling a little braver as his equilibrium returned. "Oh, I get it. You were supposed to lock us in there. Good job, man. Very thorough. Not at all forgetful. Kinda makes me wonder - why did they post you _here_ of all places, when doors really aren't your speciality?"

"Shut up!"

"You know," Shawn drawled, "I get that a lot. Must be my winning personality." Even as he spoke, his thoughts were scrambling to get back on track. Things had taken an unexpected turn but he could still make this work if he pushed hard enough. "Oh well. If you don't want the absolute pleasure of my company, I'll be off to find someone who does. Enjoy standing still for hours on end." With a grin that was primed to be as irritating as possible, he leaned in and lowered his voice. "And now I bet you're wondering... have you been guarding the wrong door? What happens to poor old Marcus when Meek finds out I've been running around this ship all by my lonesome, poking my nose into everything?"

The fear creeping over the agent's face was quite enough to convince Shawn that his parting shot had found its target. He tried not to worry about _why_ a great big thug like Marcus would be afraid of Meek. Instead, with a wild cry of triumph, he turned and fled down the passageway, desperately hoping to lure the man into a reckless game of tag... and far away from Maya's room.

The muscle-bound agent was slow to start running, which worked in Shawn's favour, but the gap between them soon began to dwindle, far more quickly than he had dared to anticipate. Now he was reaching the limits of his cunning plan, and here was the terrible flaw, the one he had tried to ignore all along. Shawn Spencer was no marathon runner. The long haul was not his comfort zone. At best, he was a sprinter - and that was being more than generous. Panic spurred him on for a while, giving the illusion of speed, but he was tiring quickly and the ship was unfamiliar territory. Changing direction to cause confusion, just as his father had taught him years ago, he hurtled through an open doorway - only to slam right into the metal rail outside and catch himself seconds before he pitched headlong into the ocean.

"Unggghhh!" His heels were swinging in the air; his head was dangling downwards. For a moment, he was so winded that he could not extricate himself. Up was down, down was up, and Shawn Spencer was hovering somewhere in the middle. When he finally tried to stand, it was sheer luck that dropped him on the right side of the railing.

He settled his feet on the deck with acute relief. Then a strong pair of arms wrapped around him and he squealed in horror. "No!"

His first fighting instinct was always to go boneless, but after the incident with Bluto, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he tried slamming his head backwards into the agent's nose - but Marcus only grunted. It was Shawn whose vision filled with tiny stars. He watched them for a moment with his mouth ajar, stunned by the painful contact and half-forgetting the danger he was in. By the time he came back to his senses, Marcus had already shifted his grip and was busy hoisting Shawn across one broad shoulder, like a sack of grain.

Hanging head down for the second time in as many minutes, Shawn felt extremely foolish. His cheeks were flushed and there was a hissing in his ears. Both arms swung loosely and his nose kept slamming into the agent's back as Marcus strode along the deck with his prize.

"Where are we - _ow!_ \- going?"

"I'm throwing you back in the hole and locking the door this time," Marcus told him with an air of smugness. "Solving my problem."

"Half," said Shawn helpfully.

Marcus halted. "What?"

" _Half_ of your problem. Let me explain. Don't worry; I'll use short sentences. Words with just a few syllables." Shawn swallowed. It was hard to be logical when you were dangling upside down. "There were two of us in the room; me and Dennis. Now there's no one. Put me back - that's one. One is half of two. Even you can see it doesn't balance." He shrugged in an awkward, topsy-turvy fashion. "And whoever said math doesn't have real life applications? Not me to Mrs. Hurley in the eighth grade, that's for sure."

" _What?!_ " Marcus repeated the word with mounting fury.

"Oh, come on now. Aren't you following? You caught me. That's wonderful; _kudos_ to you. But if you want to stand even the tiniest chance of convincing your boss we've been locked up all along, then you need to find my buddy, Dennis Gogolack. Good luck with that," Shawn added. "Seriously."

Marcus heaved him upright again and slammed him into a nearby cabin wall, holding him so that his feet were just above the deck. Now they were face to face. Shawn shrank back as far as he could. "Tic Tacs. Just a suggestion."

"Say one more word and I'm gonna kill you. I don't care what _he_ says." The agent's eyes were filled with such anger that Shawn decided not to call his bluff. Instead, he raised a shaking hand and zipped his lips. Then he crossed his heart and lowered his head in submission. Even Shawn Spencer, the undisputed champion of Pushing It Too Far, wasn't rash enough to risk his own life for the sake of a witty remark.

His silent streak lasted for ten minutes this time, which was a personal best under trying circumstances. By way of a reward (and since his arm was probably aching), Marcus lowered Shawn enough to let him stand on his own two feet, as the unhappy agent pondered his next move in a series of slow thoughts that worked their way across his solid face. Shawn watched with interest.

Unfortunately, the night air was cold and Shawn's cotton shirt was far too thin. He gave an involuntary shiver and held up his finger once again, wisely seeking permission to speak this time. "Could we head indoors, at least?" he murmured, when Marcus raised an eyebrow. "It's freezing out here. I have goosebumps on my goosebumps, look." He pointed. "You need to think - I get it. Time out (and maybe a mug or two of hot chocolate) would be perfect. I don't think either of us wants to catch pneumonia. That makes it a win-win situation... Sorry." He ducked his head again.

Instead of answering, Marcus grabbed him by the arm and forced him back to the rail, where the icy chill was strongest as it rose up from the heaving grey waves.

"You don't like that?"

"You _do_?" Shawn gripped the rail with both hands. This battle of wills was exhausting but he refused to quit. There had to be a way to reach the man. "You're no sailor, Marcus. What are you doing here?"

" _Psychic,_ " the agent spat, using the word as an insult. "Don't you know?"

Shawn shivered again. He stared at Marcus, desperately trying to read him; trying to find something useful that he could latch onto. The man was a walking cliché; a bit part from some old action movie... but wait! Was _that_ the clue? Chosen because he had a certain look. Dressed and drilled for the part Meek needed him to play? "I sense... deception," Shawn blurted out, taking a gamble on his hunch, backed up by something that Yoly had said to him. _There are far too many liars on my ship already._ "You're not what you appear to be."

"What do you mean?" Marcus tightened his grip on Shawn's arm. His eyes were wide with shock. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Psychic," Shawn said quietly. "I told you so."


	14. Chapter 14

_**"Tulio, you worry too much."**  
 **"No,** **I** **worry** **exactly** **the** **right** **amount**. **You** **can** **never** **worry** **too** **much**."  
 **(From** : **'** **The** **Road** **to** **El** **Dorado'.)**  
_

**Then...**

Sneaking around the police station was a relatively new experience for Juliet. Until now, openness and honesty had always been her watchwords. To be fair, when she stole a secret kiss from Shawn in a shadowy corner or an empty room, that was exhilarating. With the warmth of his smile and the eagerness of his touch, he brought sweetness and fun to the whole deception, making it more of a game they were playing together; a round of hide and seek in which the whole unwitting police department was against them.

Lurking on her own, by comparison, just felt wrong.

She leaned against the wall and stared down at the screen of her cell phone. Fifteen messages sent in the last few hours - _fifteen_ \- and still no reply from Shawn. He may choose to ignore calls from Carlton (which were as rare as hen's teeth), or his father, or Gus sometimes, but in all the years that she had known him, he had never failed to contact her or send a cheeky text, loaded with emoticons and wild abbreviations for her to puzzle out. Even on that terrible night when he disappeared and they moved heaven and earth to find him - when he had been shot, and bundled into the trunk of a car with his poor hands taped behind his back - even then, he had found a way to call her in the end. Just thinking about it made her shiver. If something was wrong _this_ time, she was not about to let things go so far before she stepped in.

She should never have left him alone with Cal.

Raising the phone to her ear, she tried again; a spoken message this time. _Sixteen,_ said the voice inside her head.

_"This is Shawn Spencer. You know what to do. Wait for it. Wait for iiiiiiit..."_

_Beep._

"Shawn! Where are you? And don't say 'kidnapped by aliens', because this isn't funny. If I don't hear from you in the next ten minutes, I'm bringing Carlton round to the Psych office to yell at you. Got that?" Her voice softened. "Hope you're okay. Please call me."

"Why am I yelling at Spencer?"

Carlton Lassiter's tone was light but his blue eyes were shrewd as he peered around the corner.

"Oh! You're there. Well, that's good." _I really am so bad at this,_ she sighed. "Um... what can I do for _you_ , Carlton?"

He folded his arms. "You can answer my question, O' Hara. Not that I need a specific reason. I'd just like to know the context. You know, practice some choice phrases on the way. I'm sure he deserves it, whatever he did." Lassiter paused. "You look worried. Why are you worried? And why are you hiding in _here_ to call Spencer and give him a piece of your mind? You know I love to listen when you do that."

All very good questions. Juliet floundered briefly and then pulled her thoughts together. "I met him on the beach this morning when I was out for my run." _Every successful lie has a kernel of truth in it, right?_ "There was... a man in the water. Shawn dragged him out and we took him to the Psych office."

"Okay." Carlton nodded. "You have my interest. Go on."

"He said..." It was so hard to force the words out of her mouth. "The stranger said he was an alien. He said the government was after him." She winced. "He was crazy, of course."

"Sounds like a regular Psych case to me," her partner shrugged. "Get to the part where I'm yelling at Spencer."

"Gus had to go to work - he's got some big presentation today. And I came here, obviously. Shawn's been alone with Cal all day. I wanted to check how he was getting on; you know, offer him some help if he needed it. Because I was there when he found the man. No other reason." She peered at Carlton warily. "Makes sense, right?" _Don't ask that! How obvious can you be?_

"Your instincts are usually good."

The compliment, coming from Lassiter, caught her off guard and made her smile for a moment. "Thank you. Anyway, I can't get hold of him. I've tried the landline, and his mobile, _and_ his dad's house. Even Gus won't pick up. No answer anywhere and no sign of Shawn. That doesn't sit right, Carlton."

"So you threatened him with me. I don't know whether to be flattered or... no, I'm definitely flattered." He pulled out his car keys and jingled them hopefully. "Shall we?"

"No need to sound so happy," Juliet admonished him, all the while feeling a sense of relief that she was no longer facing this alone. Whatever 'this' was. It could still turn out to be a false alarm - and oh, how she hoped it would - but Carlton was absolutely right. Her instincts _were_ good. And right now they were screaming at her: _Shawn's in trouble._

**-x0x-**

For once, the Psych office was locked. Juliet couldn't believe it. Lassiter tried both doors, front and back, but when they circled round again, a woman was standing in front of the window, trying to peer through the half-open blinds. She was dressed in a smart blouse and skirt, expensive but not flashy.

"Can we help you?" said Juliet.

The woman's expression was practically a reflection of her own; anxious and bewildered. "I don't know. I'm looking for Shawn or Gus. Mostly Shawn. Have you seen him?"

The sinking feeling in Juliet's gut dropped a little more and settled. "Not since this morning."

"That's when I saw him too. He came to our house with a friend."

"To your _house_?" Juliet's mouth fell open. Lassiter stepped in and pulled out his badge.

"Could you tell us your name, please, miss...?"

"Gogolack. _Mrs._ Gogolack. Molly." She tried to smile but her eyes were troubled and she clenched her hands together nervously.

"I know that name," Carlton muttered thoughtfully.

The answer came to Juliet in a flash. "Gogolack. That's Shawn's friend, Dennis. The one you accidentally..." _Shot with a Taser,_ she managed not to say. Carlton reached the same conclusion seconds later. A pink flush spread up the back of his neck. At any other time, it would have been amusing.

"My husband," Molly nodded, frowning ever so slightly at the head detective. Perhaps she did know the story after all. Juliet hastened to change the subject.

"Why are you here?"

"Denny's missing. Our back door is off its hinges. And it looks like there was some kind of struggle in the den. I need Shawn. I need him to do that special thing he does and find my husband."

"That's going to be difficult. Shawn's missing too."

The words, as she said them, grew solid and real. No more instinct, no more guessing. Something had gone badly wrong. She could feel herself trembling. Lassiter saw it and moved closer without comment. Did he understand the depth of her emotion? Had he guessed her secret after all? Right now, she didn't even care. His reassuring presence was the ballast that she needed and she pressed her lips together, forcing herself to regain control. What good would she be in pieces?

"Can you take us to your home?" she said to Molly Gogolack.

**-x0x-**

"Well, this makes perfect sense to me." Lassiter studied the 'nerd closet' with judgemental eyes. _Wackadoo,_ was his rapid conclusion. "Find an alien on the beach; bring him here to the land of tin foil hats and UFO conspiracies. Spectacular."

Juliet nudged him sharply in the ribs. "What he means is, Shawn clearly valued Denny's expertise," she translated for Molly.

"Oh, absolutely. In fact, I'm amazed he didn't try to register him as a fully-fledged police consultant," Lassiter muttered, feeling a little peeved by his partner's reaction. Fortunately, Molly had missed his comment altogether. She was too busy reaching out to pick up the fallen chair. Juliet laid a hand on the woman's arm before she could touch it.

"I'm sorry. This is a crime scene now. Everything has to stay put."

Molly blanched at the thought, but stepped back. "Of course! I'm so sorry." She shook her head. "I made fun of him," she confessed, sounding very subdued.

"I'm not surprised," said Lassiter. "No need to feel guilty."

"Not Denny." She rounded on him and he stepped backwards, startled. "This is his passion and I love him for it. No, Detective. I made fun of Shawn."

"Again, no need to..." Lassiter cut his words short when he saw O' Hara frown. "Um - why was that, exactly?"

"He thought they might have been followed. He must have been right all along. I feel terrible." There was a break in her voice. Was she going to cry? He really hoped not. Emotional scenes always gave him the heeby-jeebies.

Lassiter sent a pleading look to his partner and Juliet came to the rescue, offering warm reassurance to Molly as she guided her out of the den. Thank goodness. Now he could concentrate.

He scanned the room thoroughly with practised eyes, floor to ceiling. By the time O' Hara returned, he was smiling in deep satisfaction. One long finger pointed upwards. "See that?"

She lifted her head. "A security camera?"

"I should have thought of that! Denny's collection is worth a great deal and his research is irreplaceable." Molly's voice came from the outer room, where she was still eavesdropping shamelessly. Lassiter rather admired her for that. "He was afraid someone might steal it. Wanted to catch them in the act if they did."

"Well, let's hope he caught _somebody_." Lassiter rubbed his hands together, staring at the tiny high-end camera. This Dennis Gogolack wasn't as dumb as his ridiculous space toys made him out to be. "Can you show me the feed from today?"

"That depends. Can I come back into your crime scene?"

 _Touché_. He waved her in and she crouched down at the keyboard, pointedly avoiding the overturned chair. The bank of multiple screens had only been sleeping. When she touched the mousepad, they all turned back on.

"There's a way to access the file on every computer in the house, but this one has the clearest feed." With a few deft strokes, she found the application she was looking for. "How far back do you want me to go?"

"What time did you leave the house?" asked Juliet.

Rather than give her an answer, Molly dragged the video backwards and let it run at double speed from the moment Dennis, Shawn and Cal stepped into the den. Lassiter watched the little figures with keen eyes. For a while, the three men appeared to be talking casually. Then they stiffened. "There!" The detective laid his hand on Molly's shoulder in his excitement, pulling away quickly as soon as he realised what he had done. "Run it at normal speed now."

"Oh!" Juliet's gasp was softer than a whisper.

Three times. Three times over, they watched as first Cal, then Shawn and Dennis were dragged unceremoniously from the room. It was hard to see the faces of the men who took them but they were definitely dressed as government agents of some kind. Lassiter's jaw clenched in frustration.

And then, on the third loop, he finally noticed it.

"Stop!" he ordered Molly. "Go back again - just a few minutes. Now." He turned to O' Hara. "Keep your eyes on Spencer."

For the briefest of moments, Shawn's pale face looked upwards and he stared directly at the camera. He was blinking rapidly, with extreme focus.

"What's the matter with him? Is he having a psychic episode?" O' Hara leaned in closer. "Wait. I _know_ that..."

"Morse code." Lassiter could hardly believe it. "Surprising. It must have been Henry who taught him."

Molly ran the clip several times, slowing down the feed so that Lassiter could pinpoint the precise movement of Shawn's eyelids. "E... d... g... a... r. Edgar!"

"M... e... e... k," Juliet finished triumphantly. "Edgar Meek. Shawn gave us a name!"

"And then he offered himself as a hostage," Molly told them, breaking through their jubilation. She pointed at the screen. Now that she had said it, there was no denying Spencer's body language. Lassiter realised he had seen it before, up close and personal, outside the bank when Gus was in danger. He didn't know whether to be impressed or horrified by the revelation. "So did my husband," Molly continued. "They chose to go. They chose to be taken. Idiots."

Lassiter shrugged. " _Brave_ idiots," he admitted, trying to ignore O' Hara's startled reaction.

Molly slammed her fist down on the keyboard in despair and the image jumped, then froze on the tiny, stubborn form of Shawn Spencer, seconds before he was grabbed by the man whose name he had secretly given away, in the hope that his friends would find it.

_._


	15. Chapter 15

**_"You're not gonna get in my head."_ **   
**_"I am already in your head."_ **   
**_(From: 'Safe House'.)_ **

**Now...**

On the spot improvisation was simple enough in the cosy confines of Chief Vick's office, or at a local crime scene, surrounded by Lassiter, Jules and McNab. When you had an ocean below you and an ugly thug in a suit at your back, it was very, very hard to maintain your concentration. Shawn had drained himself dry, to an absolute husk, spinning clues into convoluted theories when his brain could barely cope with his current situation. Everything felt like a dream - no, a psychedelic nightmare, caused by the unknown drug that Meek had used to subdue him. If only that were true. His final bluff, delivered to Marcus, had been a shot in the dark. He had nothing left to give, and that was dangerous.

 _I'm shark-fodder,_ he thought bleakly.

The graphic image and the chill wind combined to set him shivering again, uncontrollably this time. Lifting his free arm from the rail, he tried to wrap it around his chest. Marcus still held the other one in a vice-like grip that threatened to cut off the blood flow to Shawn's fingers if it wasn't loosened soon. The big man's face was pale. Shawn's fake revelation had touched some kind of nerve - but how could he use that advantage when all he had was a movie hunch and a single cryptic phrase?

"That's how I roll," he mumbled, trying to spur himself on. After all, he had charmed Captain Yoly. And the hairy guy - Bluto - had chosen not to throttle him with his own shirt, which was definitely a win for Team Spencer. Surely he could tackle this man-mountain too? Jules always said he had the enviable knack of making friends easily. Of course, he was fairly skilled at being irritating too... "Swings and roundabouts." Had he said that out loud? Was he losing it? Shawn hoped not. "So, Marcus. Tell me what I win." _Please don't let it be a one-way trip to the bottom of the ocean._

Marcus set his lips together mutely. He reached up with one hand and tugged the tie from around his neck, loosening the knot with a ragged motion. It took several attempts. Shawn watched him in sick fascination. "Is it Casual Friday already?" he joked, though his heart was sinking. There was no version of this scenario that played out happily in his head.

Grabbing Shawn's free arm, Marcus yanked it backwards so that he could lash both wrists together. _Déjà vu._ Shawn swallowed. "Can't we talk about this?"

"I'm not talking to you anymore."

"Ha! You just did." Pulling at his bonds, Shawn could feel how secure they were. The cheap tie rubbed his skin as he wriggled. "Come on, Marcus. We were having a moment there. I know it. _You_ know it. This is no way to handle a minor disagreement."

"I don't think so," Marcus told him stubbornly. "You're sneaky, like a snake. I don't want you in my mind. So I'm going to get rid of you."

 _Oh, God._ The relentless sound of the ocean thundered in his ears. He couldn't focus on anything else. He was shaking so badly that Marcus had to hold him by the shoulders just to keep him upright. "Please..." Begging was worse than degrading but Shawn loved his life and could not bear to part with it this way. "Please don't."

_Oh, Jules._

"Don't what? Oh!" Marcus shook his head. The tiny smirk he gave at Shawn's distress seemed out of place on his solid features. "Not that. Not yet, anyway. I'm handing you over to Meek."

"You are?" It was impossible for Shawn to hide his relief. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," said his captor with deep foreboding. "Meek's the devil himself. Read _his_ thoughts if you dare, and you'll know I'm telling the truth."

**-x0x-**

Even with the moon behind the clouds, Shawn could tell that they were walking back along the port side of the ship. His normally buoyant mind was already under immense pressure - but now he had a brand new worry. They were heading in the direction of the radio room. What would happen if they bumped into Yoly and her daughter? Did Marcus have a gun, or was he strictly a hand-to-hand kind of guy? Shawn twisted, looking for (and finding) a tell-tale bulge in the man's jacket that indicated a shoulder holster, just like the one Lassie always wore.

Awesome.

"Stop that." Marcus shoved him forwards. "Keep walking."

"Oh, sorry," Shawn said lightly, trying to pretend that none of this was bothering him anymore. His eyes were shifting from side to side, seeking help, or possibly some kind of blinding revelation, but nothing came to him at all - apart from a crazy, lifeboat-related plan that relied far too much on his being ten times stronger and faster than he really was. The only other people that he saw were shadowy figures, here and there, working hard and keeping their distance. He could not even tell if they were real sailors or fake agents. Either way, they offered him no hope right now.

And then he saw it. A tiny movement in the tarpaulin that covered the nearest lifeboat. He pasted a blank look on his face and looked-without-looking - a useful skill, honed by his years as a fake psychic. Marcus marched on, oblivious, but Shawn saw everything he needed to in just a couple of seconds. Yoly's shining eyes and another pair of eyes beside her. Yoly's thumb sticking upwards before it slipped back out of sight.

She had rescued her daughter. But had she also managed to call for help? He tried to imagine how long all that would take her, and balanced it against the time that he had spent with Marcus. It was... possible. Ever the optimist, Shawn chose hope. Not possible - _probable._

He clung to this thought as Marcus steered him through the doorway and down the stairs. Now he was right back where he started - but they passed the dark room quickly and kept on walking. One part of Shawn's brain - the logical part that he often hid behind his 'visions' - was keen to see where this passageway actually led. In a parallel world, governed by alternate choices, what would have happened if he had gone this way in the first place, rather than heading up onto the open deck?

 _Only bad things,_ he decided as the air grew stale again, and the lights that hung from the ceiling at intervals hummed discordantly, making his shoulders twitch.

One turn... two turns... three. All the doors they passed were unremarkable, and now Marcus halted in front of another one that bore absolutely no distinguishing features. He cleared his throat nervously and gave a ham-fisted series of knocks on the panel.

"Come in," said Meek's voice.

"Open it," Marcus ordered, nudging Shawn.

"Um... really?" Shawn's hands were still tied behind his back. He turned and gave Marcus a pointed look, little caring that it would annoy the man. Yoly's thumbs-up had given him confidence. Help was on the way; he _knew_ it. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more certain he became. An image popped into his head, of the Dunlap sisters, Barbara and the chief, riding the waves heroically with the rest of the Santa Barbara coastguard. Coming to rescue _him_. There was even a soundtrack: The Ride of the Valkyries. If he was lucky, Jules would be there too, because he really, _really_ missed her...

Marcus grunted and reached around him. The door swung open and Shawn was pushed inside. Walking with his hands tied was never going to be an elegant activity. He tripped over the raised threshold and landed squarely on his knees with a jolt that ran up to his skull. By the time he had recovered, Meek was standing right in front of him. Shawn looked up, regretting his lowly position but determined not to let it cramp his style.

"Eddie. Nice to see you. Thanks for the nap - best one I've had in ages. You should try it. Might get rid of those bags under your eyes."

He could hear Marcus shuffling backwards behind him.

Meek ignored the insult and peered over Shawn's shoulder. He smelled of sweat, and sandalwood - cheap aftershave that clearly couldn't do its job. "Your tie, Marcus? Really?"

"He surprised me. And I couldn't use my belt. Didn't want my pants to fall..." Marcus tailed off into silence.

"He surprised you. This man." _This pathetic specimen,_ said the look on Edgar's chipmunk face.

"I do have my moments," Shawn said obligingly. "And I, for one, am glad that he chose dignity over style when considering bondage options. No one likes to see an accidental pair of boxers on display." He paused, looking thoughtful. "No, wait. Tighty-whities?"

Marcus made a choking sound and Shawn couldn't help grinning. "I thought we'd already been through this. Psychic, remember?"

"So you keep saying." Meek's voice was quiet and deadly. "Don't take offence, Mr. Spencer, but I have yet to see any real evidence of that. Merely a few parlour tricks and far too many jokes at the expense of other people."

"Just because I'm funny doesn't mean I'm not gifted. Why be dull when you can be entertaining? I think that's a proverb, or something. Besides, everyone ought to enjoy what they do. I mean, clearly _you_ do, Eddie." He turned back to Marcus. "Not so sure about you. Sorry, buddy."

Before the poor man could think of a suitable retort, Meek waved him from the room with a deceptively careless gesture. "I'll deal with you later," he warned as Marcus beat a sullen retreat and closed the door behind him.

Now they were alone. Shawn felt a surge of claustrophobia. Hoping to distract himself, he studied his new surroundings. The benches and shelves of equipment reminded him sharply of his old science lessons back at Leland Bosseigh High - the ones he had slept through, mostly - and he assumed that this was one of the research labs. _If you had paid more attention to the class and less to the inside of your eyelids,_ said Fake Gus primly in his head, _you would know what those instruments do. You can't borrow my notes for this one, Shawn._

At the far end of the long room was a rectangular window, not unlike the two-way mirror from Interrogation. Meek followed the line of Shawn's gaze. "By all means, take a look," he said, but made no move to help Shawn to his feet. There followed a highly embarrassing struggle, as Shawn brought one foot forward, wobbled precariously and then pitched over altogether. He rolled and wriggled like a beetle in distress for a while. Still Meek did nothing. Finally, Shawn backed up against the door, using it as leverage to help him rise, inch by ridiculous inch. Once he was upright, he lifted his chin and stared Meek in the face, as defiantly as he could manage after such a pathetic display.

"Thank you," he replied. "I think I will."

He felt battered and bruised but he crossed the room with dignity. Meek followed close behind him. _The devil at my shoulder,_ Shawn thought uncomfortably, remembering what Marcus had said.

He knew what he would see through the glass before he even reached it - would have staked a substantial amount on it (though not his life) if someone asked him to and he had Gus' credit card handy - but he felt little satisfaction when he peered through and found that he was right.


	16. Chapter 16

_**"Rule number one: this business, real life, it's boring."  
** _ _**(From: 'Kiss Kiss Bang Bang'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Then...**

Burton Guster sat cross-legged on the floor of his tiny office, balancing a plate of _hors d'oeuvres_ on his knee and wishing with all his might and main that an alien spaceship _would_ touch down, right now, on the roof of Central Coast Pharmaceuticals.

(Or maybe in ten minutes, when he had finished eating. Finch's home-baked mini quiches were surprisingly delicious.)

The open day was running smoothly and Gus was pretty sure his speech was going to be a hit - he had wrangled with it all through the night and his ongoing sugar binge had worked miracles - but he was bored; so bored; so _very, very_ bored. If Shawn had poked his head around the door at this precise moment and snaffled all of his mini quiches, Gus would still be overjoyed to see him.

Shawn.

He dragged his personal cell phone out of his pocket and stared at the blank screen, feeling guilty. He had turned it off this morning, certain that his friend would be unable to keep his word and leave him alone. Especially with an alien - _fake_ alien - in tow. If Gus were to turn his phone back on, he knew there would be a stream of... well, frankly hilarious messages waiting for him. And he could do with a laugh.

He pressed the button and waited.

Ten minutes later, he was still waiting. The message inbox on his phone was as empty as his plate. Absent-mindedly, Gus collected the last few crumbs of quiche with his fingertip and dropped them into his mouth. The buttery goodness dissolved on his tongue but he didn't even notice. He was troubled. Shawn had never left him alone for this long. Ironically, his ridiculous observations and jokes were the one thing that always kept Gus sane at work. They popped up with startling frequency because, apparently, Shawn couldn't keep a single thought to himself once it had occurred to him. And yet, today of all days, there was absolutely nothing. Even more surprising - when Gus tried to call his friend, it went straight to voicemail.

"You listened to me, Shawn?" he said out loud, still staring at the screen. "I don't believe it."

Pulling out his work phone, he studied that one too. Three messages this time, and all of them from Frankjim Ogletree, his creepy line manager.

_Guster. We've run out of quiches._

_Guster. Where are you?_

_Speech minus 30. Get here now and bring more food. The peasants are revolting._

"No," said Gus to his work phone. "You're revolting."

A tingle ran down his spine as though someone officious with terrible hair had just walked over his grave. For one nasty moment, he truly believed that Ogletree had heard him. Pigeon spies on the window ledge, perhaps? He looked up - and squealed in surprise.

"There you are," said his boss.

Gus leapt to his feet and checked that his shirt was still tucked neatly into his waistband. "Ah," he said. "Yes. Um..."

_Nope. I've got nothing._

The empty plate lay on the floor behind his desk, shiny, white and accusing. He tried not to look at it, hoping it was well out of Ogletree's line of sight. Frankjim folded his arms and gave that irritating almost-smile of his, the one that said: _I've got you now._

With a glance at his watch, Gus clung to the only escape option he had at his disposal. "Oh my gosh," he exclaimed. "Here I am, just taking a moment to centre myself and practice my speech one last time - not eating quiches _at all_ \- and I could have missed it altogether! Thank you, sir. I expect they're waiting for me. I'll be going now," he added hopefully.

Ogletree continued to stare at him, as though willing his runaway tongue to say something even more unfortunate. Knowing how likely that was, Gus clamped his lips together. He grabbed the speech from his desk and sidled past Ogletree, sucking in his gut and holding his breath in case it smelled of cheese and onion. The man watched him pass with pale, unfriendly eyes, but didn't try to stop him.

_Oh my gosh..._

Walking down the corridor, Gus managed to control his pace but his mind was racing at a mile a minute. Once he had turned the corner and left Frankjim Ogletree safely behind (for the moment, at least), he paused and leaned back against the wall to steady himself. Closing his eyes, he breathed through the problem and sorted it carefully into three categories.

Number one: least alarming. _I have to give a speech in ten minutes._ Okay, he could manage that. It was written down and it was good. All he had to do was read it. No need to look at the sea of faces... _Stop that!_

Number two: mildly alarming. _Frankjim Ogletree hates me._ So, what else was new?

Number three: extremely bothersome and - _oh, come on, just say it._ "Very alarming indeed," he muttered. Shawn was off the grid. Incommunicado.

Once again, he tried to call his friend. Once again, he came up against that ridiculous answerphone message. "I'll give you 'wait for iiiiit'," Gus grumbled. "How can you do this to me?" Which was unfair, he knew, but his heart was beginning to bang like a drum and his go-to response for that was always to blame Shawn Spencer. Rightly, as it often turned out. It was only in the last few weeks that he had noticed a subtle change in his friend. Beneath the insanity, there was a happiness, grounding the man in a way that Gus had never seen before. Would it last? Shawn really was his own worst enemy sometimes. But Juliet loved him, and he loved her back. Gus was a great believer in the power of love; a romantic at heart, and he hoped for the best.

Juliet.

 _Juliet!_ Who _had_ tried to call him, he noticed, when he looked back at his personal phone.

"You're an idiot, Burton Guster," he breathed, as he keyed in her number. 

**-x0x-**

It was Paul Haversham, the Vice President himself, who came upon Gus this time, just as he sank to the floor in a daze.

"Oh," said Haversham, somewhat vaguely. He wandered past and then halted. "That you down there, Guster?"

 _What?_ "Yes, sir," Gus replied automatically.

"Mind if I join you?"

_Whaaat?_

Haversham bumped into the wall and slid downwards. Now they were side by side. Gus could smell the contents of the V.P.'s paper cup, and it wasn't coffee; that much was certain. One little mystery solved.

"Ah... sir? Can I help you?" he asked politely. Inside, he was screaming: _I have to get out of here! I have to find Shawn._ Juliet's news had ranked at number four on the Guster scale: so alarming that he could barely cope with it. This was turning into a very bad day.

"Mm? Yes. Help," said Haversham. "You can pass on a message to that friend of yours. The _psychic_ one. The smartass. The busybody."

 _I wish I could,_ thought Gus unhappily.

"Tell him there'll be no more 'favours'. This is the las' one. I'm retiring, so he'll have to find another patsy." Haversham's words were slurred, but his eyes were gleaming. "Though, I have t' say, he was right about you, Guster. You do throw one hell of a good shindig."

_What?_

"Wait a minute." Gus spoke slowly. Had he really understood what Haversham was saying? "Are you telling me that Shawn...?"

"I had a good run, didn't I?" Haversham closed his eyes and tipped his head back, taking another sip of his not-coffee as he did so. "I was a good boss... Just ask Bianca... Sweet Bianca with her wonderful pappardelle..."

 _Don't go maudlin on me,_ Gus sighed. He didn't have time for this; really he didn't. " _I_ always liked you, Mr. Haversham. _Paul_ ," he said with as much sincerity as he could fake at this difficult moment. "Tell you what - I'll go and find Shawn right now. Pass on your message. No more favours - got it." He clambered to his feet. Haversham gazed up at him, bleary-eyed, and raised his paper cup in a wobbly salute.

"Basil Guster. Good man."

Gus walked away, shaking his head.

_I have to get out of here._

**-x0x-**

The lobby was a minefield, with the front door beckoning on the other side; a gleaming hope of freedom. Gus stared at the milling crowd of employees and visitors, all waiting to enter the conference room. All waiting to hear _his_ speech.

He clutched the sheaf of papers in his sweating palm and swallowed, hard.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey," said a sharp voice. "You hear about Haversham?"

"Actually, yes." Gus turned and found himself staring into the cold face of Dorian Creech, his least favourite co-worker. "He's leaving. So?"

" _So,_ " Creech echoed, watching him carefully. "That's a job worth aiming for. Right?"

"Maybe." Gus really wasn't listening.

"They'll be looking for someone who knows how to make their mark around here." Creech glanced down at the crumpled papers. "That your speech, Barton? Any good?"

"What?" _I really don't have time for this._ Taking a deep breath, Gus stared him squarely in the face. "Yes it is, as a matter of fact. But I can't do this right now." He shoved his precious work into Dorian's hands. "Knock yourself out, okay? I'm leaving. Tell them I'm ill or something. I really don't care."

Creech stared at him in shock but Gus was done with the man. He felt reckless and unafraid. It was strangely exhilarating. Marching through the crowd with such determination that it actually parted for him, like the Red Sea for the Israelites, he reached the front door and laid his hand upon it. So close. So close to freedom...

"Leaving, sir?" Sally, the doorman with the crooked smile, gave him a shrewd look.

"Yes, I am," said Gus.

"Coming back?"

"Not today, Sally. Not today."

"Very well." Sally continued to stare at him. "If I may say so, you look like a man on a mission."

"That's very observant of you." Gus was bouncing on the balls of his feet by now, so desperate was he to escape from this nightmare.

" _Thank_ you, sir. That means more than you know." Sally leaned in and lowered his voice. "I've been training myself, you see. I don't mean to be a doorman for ever. I have my eye on another position..."

"V.P.?" said Gus, who wouldn't have been surprised by anything at this point.

Sally tapped the side of his nose and gave a secretive grin. "Better."

"Okay. Well... erm, good luck with that."

"Thank you," Sally replied with deep satisfaction. "Thank you very much." And he opened the door.

Gus shot out of Central Coast as though Sally had fired him from a cannon. The fresh air was blissful, the sunshine a tonic. His ordeal was over. The fallout (and the grovelling) could wait until Monday.

Time to find Shawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes several characters from 'Ghosts' and 'Office Space'. They aren't mine, but I had a lot of fun borrowing them (and doing the research, of course, which meant re-watching two great episodes).


	17. Chapter 17

_**"The only thing greater than the power of the mind is the courage of the heart."  
** _ _**(From: 'A Beautiful Mind'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

Shawn leaned his forehead against the two way mirror, wishing he could slip right through it. There was no doubt in his mind that it was safer on the other side. Meek was beginning to scare him in a way he really didn't want to think about.

At least he had finally found Dennis.

The looking-glass room beyond had silver walls and very little furniture; a desk, a chair, a bookshelf and a narrow bunk. Much like Yoly's cabin, it felt impersonal and cold. The floor and the desk were littered with sheets of paper, some in crumpled balls and all of them covered with spidery writing. Cal and Dennis sat together on the bunk with their legs sticking out, like two children on a playdate. They were deep in conversation and seemed relatively calm.

Having gleaned all this information in a couple of seconds, Shawn stole a precious moment to reflect upon his own situation. Meek was a nut job - that much was obvious. But he was clever too, and deeply suspicious. Shawn would need to give a flawless performance if he was going to convince the man that he had honest-to-goodness psychic powers.

Was it worth it?

 _Yes,_ he thought vehemently. Snarky humour and an awesome head of hair were simply not enough to save him or to help the others. Toying with Meek was dangerous but necessary. He would have to maintain the psychic ruse. Starting now, he would have to be _better._

Shawn closed his eyes and took a deep breath, looking slightly pained. "Oh," he mumbled. "Ohhh..." The shiver was real. It was no warmer down here than up on deck. Choosing to lead with the guesswork that had kept him from a watery grave, he turned his head, his eyes still closed. "I sense... a lie."

"I sense that too and I'm no fortune teller," Meek said evenly.

 _Smartass._ Nettled by the other man's complacency, Shawn opened his eyes again and fixed his gaze ever so slightly to the right of Meek's own face. It was a game he had played at school - very disconcerting to his teachers, he had gleefully discovered. Meek tried to move back into Shawn's line of vision but it shifted again; a childish but effective way to unsettle the agent. "Someone here is not who they appear to be."

There! There it was. An unconscious movement; the tiniest turn of Meek's head towards the window. So he _wasn't_ hunting alien technology. He knew that Cal was human. Of course he did.

Shawn latched onto the information greedily. He glanced back at the room and its occupants. Cal was waving his arms around emphatically, more like a professor lecturing a hall full of students than a stranger chatting with his new found friend. Shawn was captivated by his hands, with their short, stubby digits and bitten-down nails. There was something he ought to remember. _Something..._

No. Time was up. Letting go in the hope that the unseen connection would come to him when he needed it, Shawn took a calming breath. Since his finger-to-eyebrow device was out of action, he offered up a smile that was loaded with psychic smugness.

"You know Cal isn't an alien." It wasn't a question.

"As do you."

"Then what are we talking here? 'A Beautiful Mind'?"

"Do all your 'special insights' come from movies?" Meek's tone was scathing. But an insult was not a denial, and his jaw was tightly clenched.

 _I'm getting to him,_ Shawn thought proudly. "If it makes you feel better to think that. Or maybe I really am psychic." He watched his friend through the glass as he continued. "Dennis wants to believe in your Starman. That's another movie reference, by the way, in case you missed it. I bet you realised he would when you saw his special room. You put him in there with Cal to feed the delusion, hoping their conversation would reveal the information you're so desperate to find. It's a fishing trip." Biting his lip, he turned back to Meek. "How much does Dennis remember?"

"Very little at the moment." Meek narrowed his eyes. Shawn didn't like the look upon his face. It made him feel insignificant and small, like a bug under a microscope. "As opposed to you. Why _is_ that, Mr. Spencer?"

"I told you not to underestimate the power of my mind. That's science, man. _Phsysics._ " He gave a tug on the tie that bound his hands together, hoping to change the subject. Shawn had an endgame in mind and he was circling around it, getting closer all the time. "Any chance of undoing this? I really, _really_ need to scratch my nose. Unless you're offering...? No? Guess not. So, where do we go from here, Eddie? Is this the part where you tell me all about your cunning plan?"

"Before I kill you?"

"Oh!" Shawn's exclamation was involuntary. "You're kidding, right? Of course you are. You need me; we established that."

Meek pulled out his weapon, like the caricature of an agent Shawn suspected him to be. "Did we really?"

"Okay, okay." Wishing yet again that he could raise his hands, Shawn backed up against the glass. "I know you're just trying to make a point but you need to be careful waving that thing around. It could go off by accident, and this is my favourite shirt. It wouldn't look half as good with a big red hole in it. Been there - don't want to repeat it."

" _I_ have no problem with that." Meek shrugged.

"And I believe you." _All or nothing,_ Shawn decided. "Look. You want to know if I can solve your little problem? Fine." He tilted his head in the direction of the hidden room. "I'll go in there. You can watch me - I don't care. I have the spirits on my side. I'll get your information and then you can let us _all_ go, right? Dennis, Cal, the crew. Me..." He kept his face innocent, trusting. Naïve. "You know you want to. _I_ know you want to." _Keep pushing._ "Psychic, remember?"

Meek stepped forward, jamming the muzzle of his gun into Shawn's gut and leaning so close that the heavy scent of sandalwood was sickening. If he was lucky enough to have a future, Shawn knew he would hate that smell forever. "Bit excessive," he murmured. "What's your point?"

"I should have thought that was glaringly obvious. I don't like you, Mr. Spencer. I don't _trust_ you." The gun pressed harder. Shawn squirmed uncomfortably.

"S'mutual," he confessed. "Are you shocked?"

"However," Meek whispered into his ear. He dragged out the pause, enjoying his moment. Shawn waited, still twitching. "I think I understand you," the agent said finally.

 _I hope you don't,_ Shawn thought with growing unease.

The gun pulled back and so did Edgar Meek. The man was smiling; a wolf disguised as a chipmunk. "You're full of bravado. You crave attention. Everything seems to be all about you. But that's not true, is it? You actually _care_. And that's your weakness."

"I thought my weakness was delicious flavour. And bunnies, of course." _And Juliet._ Shawn's eyes were lowered. He had the strangest feeling that Meek could see right through them. He also knew in his heart where this was heading and it terrified him, but he couldn't show it. Instead, he released his pent-up emotion in a long, slow breath, then raised his head and stared at the agent, hoping his expression was unreadable. It was a trick his father had taught him long ago; a way to hide in plain sight. "I understand you too, Eddie. It's not hard; you're kind of a cliché. I mess up, you take it out on Dennis. That's what you're telling me, right? He's the guy with the red shirt. He's the pawn in your crazy chess game. He's the innocent guy in this whacked-out psychodrama of yours. Well, I'm not going to mess up, 'Agent' Meek. I know what I'm doing. So you can put that gun away and let me show you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acknowledgement: The game 'Eyes Right' comes from 'Grinny' by Nicholas Fisk.


	18. Chapter 18

_**"We struck down evil with the mighty sword of teamwork and the hammer of not bickering."  
** _ _**(From: 'Mystery Men'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Then...**

Whether by virtue of his charm or the sheer forcefulness of his personality, Shawn Spencer always managed to gravitate towards the centre of the room - even when he had been relegated to the sidelines. Gus saw it as a pathological need for attention that had been developing since childhood. Simply put, the man loved to showboat and he did it well.

This was very different.

'Spencer' was the name on everyone's lips today, yet the absence of his friend was shocking and Gus felt it keenly. There was a Shawn-shaped hole in the bullpen. No one else could fill a gap like that and Gus wasn't about to try. Instead, he made a beeline for Shawn's father.

"Mr. Spencer. I know what you're thinking," he said uncomfortably, halting a few steps away from the desk. He still felt like a naughty child in Henry's presence sometimes. The urge to confess was every bit as powerful as it had always been.

Henry shuffled a random stack of papers and lined them up squarely. Gus could see that he was fighting for control. Never had a man looked so ill at ease in a formal suit, as though he might burst through the seams at any moment; the Hulk hemmed in by Banner's civility and raging to be free. "I doubt it," he said grimly, "but go on."

"You think I failed him. I should have stayed with him." Telling the truth was supposed to be therapeutic but Gus only felt more wretched than ever.

"Wrong. If you were _with_ Shawn, we'd be looking for you too. And I was thinking about Detective O'Hara."

Startled, Gus followed the line of Henry's gaze while trying to process this new information. "You were? I mean, why?"

Henry beckoned him closer, inviting his confidence. "You _know_ ," he said. "Right?" His blue eyes were shifty.

"Know what?" Gus said carefully. This was a very strange conversation to be having under the present circumstances.

The scent of Old Spice threatened to overwhelm the Super Sniffer as Henry leaned right in. "Juliet - and my son," he whispered.

Gus took him by the arm and steered him into a quiet corner, where they could talk more freely. "Shawn told you?" That was surprising, given their usual level of communication. He often thought the Spencer family must have been standing in the wrong line when God was handing out the sharing gene.

"Not in so many words. Why would he? I'm only his father... But I'm not an idiot, Gus. I can see what's right in front of my face. Unlike our Head Detective over there." They both stared at Lassiter, who was standing next to a whiteboard, tacking up photographs and scrawling notes beside them. One of those pictures was Shawn, looking goofy and grinning from ear to ear. Gus tried to swallow but there was a nasty lump in his throat - rather like the time the two friends placed a bet on who could stuff the most donuts into his mouth. The answer was five and the winner was Shawn, of course. The prize was a month's supply of pineapple smoothies. Gus lost more than his dignity that day.

"Are you calling Lassie an idiot?" he murmured, pushing the memory away. It was so hard to concentrate.

Henry glared at him. "Of course not. I'm saying he doesn't know that Shawn is dating his partner. Hardly surprising. That's a conversation any sane person would try to avoid for as long as they could." He gripped Gus by both shoulders and turned him around. "Now look over here. Tell me what you see."

 _I'm not your son,_ Gus thought, but he did as he was told.

Juliet was sitting at her desk with Molly, taking an official statement. The comparison between the two women was obvious to anyone who knew what they were looking for. "Molly's fear is out in the open," Gus murmured. "She has no reason to hide it." It was a natural, unrestrained part of her body language, as she twisted her fingers together and peered at the upside-down report, making sure that Juliet wrote down every little thing that she was saying. Shawn's secret girlfriend had no such freedom to express her emotions. On the surface, she was calm and professional. Her hand didn't shake and her voice was steady. The sympathy on her face was all for Molly - until she caught the two men staring at her. Right then and there, for just one second, everything she longed to share was visible in her eyes.

Unused to dealing with such raw emotion in a surreptitious way, Gus gave her a double thumbs-up - and instantly regretted it. "Juliet is under an enormous strain," he said to Henry. "That can't be good. Why doesn't she tell Lassiter?"

Henry shrugged. "I'm no expert on all this touchy-feely stuff, but now doesn't really seem like the right time to crack open _that_ can of worms."

"Fishing metaphor?" Gus murmured. "Nice. And you're right, I suppose." He watched with admiration as Juliet finished the interview and guided Molly to a quiet space where she could gather herself and wait for news.

"Go talk to her," Henry prompted, tilting his head in Juliet's direction. "She could use a friend who knows her situation."

"What about you?"

"Me?" The pale blue eyes stared at him, genuinely startled.

"Aren't you scared for Shawn? I mean, of course you are, so don't you need me to...?"

"What I _need,_ " said Henry adamantly, "is for everyone to be focussed on what they are doing, with _no_ distractions, so that we can find my son. Or are you planning to baby-sit me for the duration?" He was breathing quickly and his cheeks were flushed, but Gus knew better than to push the subject any further. No one wanted the Hulk to break free. He edged backwards a few steps, then fled for his life. An emotional conversation with Juliet was actually starting to seem preferable to any conversation at all with Shawn's father right now.

Walking up to her before he could bottle out, Gus tapped her on the shoulder and invited her into an empty room. Then he shut the door, sealing them into the Vault of Secrets.

"Why are we in the Chief's office?" Juliet demanded.

Oops. "We are? I mean... I need to talk to you." Gus tried to stop the tears from welling up. Being a sympathetic crier was such a curse.

"Are you okay?" Reaching out, she laid a gentle hand on his arm. "I'm sorry I dragged you away from your very important work thing."

"Are you kidding? I couldn't bear it another minute. All that fawning, and creeping, and dull conversation... anyway, that's not what this is about."

"I know." She nodded. "You're worried about Shawn."

He stared at her, open-mouthed. "Juliet. How can you be so calm?"

For a moment, the hand on his arm grew tighter. "Calm?" she said, and her eyes were fever-bright. "You think I'm calm." It was a statement of bewilderment. "Gus, I'm doing my job. It's what I _have_ to do. It's the only way to get him back safely. I should never..."

"Let me guess." Gus laid his hand over hers. "You should never have left him? Join the club. Shawn will always be Shawn, you know. He'll follow his instinct every time, whether someone is with him or not." The reassurance was for Juliet, but the words were helping Gus as well. "He's the only person I know who can race headlong over a cliff and land on a mountain of pillows. Okay, weird example." He frowned. "But you get my point. Shawn Spencer leads a charmed life. Trust me; I know. He'll get through this somehow."

"He'll get through this," Juliet corrected Gus, with absolute conviction, "because we are going to find him."

"I like your motivation," said a dry voice behind them. "I don't think you'll find him in my office, though." Turning, Gus caught the gleam in Chief Vick's eyes that told him she was only trying to lighten the mood. "Any news?" she asked hopefully, circling round to her desk.

Juliet straightened up, releasing Gus' arm and tugging on her jacket. "I'm waiting to hear back from my contact in Washington. I need to find out more about Meek."

"You think he really is a federal agent, then?" the Chief enquired.

"Who's Meek?" said Gus, feeling very much out of the loop. Juliet explained, as briefly as she could, about Shawn's hidden message and the pertinent facts of his disappearance. "Wait," he exclaimed, when she had finished. "Shawn and Dennis volunteered to go along with this guy?"

"Does that surprise you, Mr. Guster?" Chief Vick said curiously.

Did it? Did it _really_? "No," he admitted. "Not if Shawn thought that Cal was in danger. He'd want to do all he could to protect him. And Dennis - well, he's pretty impulsive too." Not to mention heavily invested in the whole idea of aliens and men in black. Gus shook his head. "I'm still going to kill him, though. When he's back, safe and sound."

"You'll have to get in line," Juliet muttered, but there was no real anger in her voice.

Chief Vick folded her arms. "And how are you holding up, O'Hara?"

"Excuse me?" The detective tried to look innocent and failed.

"Oh, come on now. I wasn't born yesterday. And this office of mine has far too many windows. I've seen the two of you sneaking around. You and Spencer, I mean. It's about time, frankly. I pegged you as a couple years ago. Congratulations, by the way."

"Um - thank you?"

"Based on the fact that he doesn't look shell-shocked, I assume Detective Lassiter remains unaware of the change in your relationship status?"

Juliet flushed, and nodded.

"Then I'll be circumspect." The Chief's eyes narrowed. "You are planning to tell him eventually?"

"He's my partner."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Yes," said Juliet, smiling softly. "We're going to tell him. When..."

"When the time is right. Just so."

A knock at the door took them all by surprise. Buzz McNab was standing there with an apologetic look on his face. How much of the conversation he had overheard was far from clear, but that didn't matter right now.

"Pardon me," he said. "Detective O'Hara. You have a phone call... It's Agent Driggs. He says he has the information you requested. That's good, right?" Buzz looked eager, as Juliet barged past him in her haste to reach her desk. "Good for Shawn, I mean? You can find him now?"

"That's the plan," Chief Vick said grimly, trading glances with Gus, who felt an overwhelming surge of relief that he was not alone in all of this. Shawn may be an arrogant nuisance sometimes, but he certainly knew how to win people over - and that endearing skill of his could very well save his life today.

 _Hold on, buddy,_ Gus thought, with his fingers crossed for luck. _We're going to get there, okay? I just need you to hold on tight, and not do anything reckless or stupid, or Shawn-like..._

Riiight...

Oh dear.


	19. Chapter 19

_" **I'm**_ _ **not** **the**_ **_one_ _still_ _hiding_ _behind_** **_a_ _mask_**."  
" ** _No_**. **_You're_ _hiding_ _in_ _plain_ _sight_**."  
 ** _(From_** : ' ** _Watchmen'.)_**

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

Meek picked up a scalpel from a workbench and used it to slice the tie from around Shawn's wrists. The cheap material was surprisingly resistant. He hacked away at it with the blade until the whole thing was in shreds. By this time, there were also a number of nicks all over Shawn's fingers. Meek seemed unremorseful. No surprises there.

 _Why do the shallow ones always sting so badly?_ Shawn clenched his fists against the nagging ache as a trickle of blood escaped. Bright red droplets fell to the ground. He stared at them with fascination, feeling quite detached, as though the hands, and the blood, belonged to someone else entirely. His wrists were raw and blistered - had he been struggling that much?

"911," Meek said, catching sight of the scribbled memo. "Really? That's a little on the nose, wouldn't you say?"

Shawn stared at the numbers and swallowed. _Gus._ "Not at all. I'd say it's on my arm. Spontaneous psychic tattooing," he lied carelessly. He was cold and tired, and _very_ hungry, with an insurmountable task ahead of him that was making him tremble on the inside. So. Attitude. "It was there when I woke up this morning. Crazy, huh? Guess the spirits knew what kind of day I'd be having."

"Shame they didn't give you any details." Meek licked his thumb and rubbed it over the '9', which smudged, ever so slightly. "I didn't know the spirits were using permanent marker these days."

"They'll use whatever - or _whoever_ \- they can to get their message across." The cool, wet feeling of Meek's saliva made Shawn's skin crawl. He felt oddly violated by the action. There was a sink to his left. He gazed at it longingly, holding up his red hands in a mute plea to his captor. When Meek nodded, he turned on the tap and rinsed away the gore. The icy water soothed the rawness and numbed the tiny, stinging cuts - for a couple of minutes, at least.

"Are we doing this, then?" Shawn said blithely, when he had taken enough deep breaths to calm himself. Unrolling his sleeves, he let the cuffs hang low to hide the painful evidence of his mistreatment.

"If the spirits are _quite_ ready," Meek retorted. Shawn longed to punch him in his nasty, sneering chipmunk face, but he knew how that was likely to end. With a monumental effort, he resisted.

"The spirits were born ready."

"In you go, then. An accurate location, for your friend's life. And remember - I'll be watching."

"Thanks for that," Shawn mumbled as he headed for the door. "I'd totally forgotten."

"Said the liar."

Had Meek really uttered those three little words, or was food-deprivation causing his brain to play tricks on him? Real or imagined, Shawn (being Shawn) could not leave an insult hanging. "Takes one to know one," was his parting shot, delivered in safety from the passageway.

He closed the door on Meek's red face with satisfaction and considered his options, such as they were.

He could run again, of course, but that would be a death knell for Dennis. Meek had him well and truly stitched up there. _Now I know how Yoly feels._

Close at hand was the door that led into Cal's room. If he didn't enter soon, things were going to get ugly. The feeling of freedom that came from being alone was just an illusion.

How was he going to keep his promise to Meek _and_ trick him at the same time?

"Don't over-think it," he advised himself. "Trust your gut." Which was all very well, but his gut felt like a bag of worms right now; all squirly and gross. Shawn tested his forehead. Warm, but not sweaty. "You're fine," he said tetchily. "Sea air is good for you, and you've had plenty of it this evening."

He unlocked Cal's door, leaving a smear of blood on the handle, and stepped inside the room.

"Next time," he announced as he entered, "I'm heading _left_ down the creepy-ass corridor. Sorry it took me this long to find you both. Crossed wires in the psychic realm. The spirits decided to send me the long way round."

Dennis practically leapt off the bed. His face was flushed and full of relief. "Shawn! I'm so glad to see you." Hurrying forwards, he stopped just shy of his friend and stuck out his hand.

Shawn shook it solemnly. "Glad to be seen." He turned to Cal. Fear and delight were fighting for dominance over the man's pale features. "Did you miss me?"

"It was... quiet," Cal admitted.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. Thank you." The muscles in Shawn's jaw seemed reluctant to co-operate, but he forced them into a cheery grin. "Hey, don't look so down in the mouth, Calamity. The gang's all here."

 _If_ _only.._.

"How _did_ you find us?" Dennis asked him. His dark gaze drifted sideways to the mirror on the far wall.

 _Oh,_ Shawn thought, _so you know about that, do you?_ Meek must have spun a pretty web of lies to confound Dennis Gogolack, the man who made an expensive pastime out of being paranoid.

"Alien vibes, man. They're strong in this vicinity. With a bright green aura, as it happens. Like apple syrup. You! You're practically dazzling," he said to Cal with a warm smile, sashaying closer and settling down on the edge of the bed. "How are you holding up, buddy?" he muttered, his back to the mirror.

"Gravity," was Cal's profound reply.

Shawn laughed. "I like that. I like that very much. You're a hoot, Cal." When the man looked confused, he continued. "Funny. You're funny. What, they don't have humour where you come from? No wonder you look so stressed out all the time. Laughter is the best medicine." He stopped and considered. "Someone should tell Central Coast Pharmaceuticals..."

"Shawn," said Dennis. "You're rambling."

"What? Oh." He pulled a face. Just knowing that Meek was standing on the other side of the glass made him feel so uncomfortable. Concentration was key, but his thoughts were all over the place, like butterflies in the wind.

Cal laid a hand on his arm. "Did you tell them?" he said. "Please say no."

Shawn opened his mouth to reply, but the words never came. Instead, he stared in shock at the stubby fingers with their ragged nails - and an image came to him at last; the strange connection he had been searching for. "Cal," he said. "I'm on your side. I'm your friend. Just like..." He winced, and stiffened, covering Cal's hand with his own. This would have to be a command performance, every word carefully chosen. "Just like _Maya_?"

"Who's Maya?" Dennis asked with interest.

"I don't..." Shawn shook his head, pretending to focus deeply. "The name is so clear. It's coming... It's coming from _you_ , Cal. I see you, with your arm around her shoulder. Red... She's wearing red. And she's young; just a girl..." Cal was the hidden figure in Yoly's photograph. He wasn't only a prisoner here; he belonged on board, or so Shawn suspected.

Cal was trembling. "Who...?"

"Maya," Dennis supplied, enunciating carefully. "Shawn, this is exciting. Why is she important?"

Shawn sank from the bed to his knees. He used his palms to guide him, letting them swoop around for good effect. "She's here," he mumbled at last. "She's _here_."

"In the room? She's a spirit?" Dennis glanced around, his eyes wide. "Can you see her right now?"

"I can see her... _Not_ a spirit. She's flesh and blood. And she's on this boat."

"Ship."

"Copernicus," Cal said quietly.

Shawn froze, hardly daring to believe that he had done it. The door to Cal's true identity was open, just a crack. Now he would have to be even more cautious. "Copper Knickers, yes."

Cal gave him a pitying look. "Young man," he said. "Nicolaus Copernicus was a famous polymath from the Renaissance period. I hardly think he'd be pleased to hear you denigrate his name like that."

 _Young man,_ Shawn mouthed to Dennis, with an expression of mild amusement. "I don't know what 'denigrate' means, but since the mouldy old math guy is dead, I doubt he'll really care. Thanks for the lesson, though, Professor..."

"Riley," Cal said, with an ease born of habit.

"Professor Riley." Shawn nodded respectfully. Another guess confirmed. "I'm sorry if I was rude. Please continue. So, they named the ship after this Nick fellow? What did he do that was so special?"

"He posited that the sun was the centre of our planetary system." Cal's voice was full of pride.

"It is?" said Shawn. Dennis smacked him on the arm as the professor continued.

"Copernicus changed the way humanity viewed its place in the universe. He was a genius."

"Like you?"

Cal waved the compliment away. "I'm just a simple man who loves my work," he told them both, but he seemed truly happy for the first time since Shawn had pulled him from the water. "My discovery..." Doubt crept into his voice and his face clouded over. "My discovery could also change the world."

"But not in the way you were hoping," Shawn surmised. "And that's why you hid it?"

"Deep in the ocean, yes." Cal left the bed and crouched down beside him. "The perfect place. It was Maya's idea, as a matter of fact. That girl has a strong moral compass."

"A what now?"

"A conscience," Dennis translated for his friend. He was frowning as he listened to their conversation, clearly re-evaluating his understanding of the situation.

"Okay, but this compass..."

"There _is_ no compass, Shawn."

"So there's no way to find your discovery again," Shawn said pointedly to Cal. "Right? No hidden log books or clues to its location, like a treasure hunt? Only a psychic could do it? Find the invisible connection between you and your secret..." He was beginning to form a real plan at last; one that was grounded in hope. Without pausing to let Cal answer, he raised his hand and placed it on the professor's head. Then he closed his eyes. "My mind to your mind..."

"That's from Star Trek," Dennis murmured. Shawn ignored him.

"My thoughts to your thoughts..."

"Has this ability of yours ever been scientifically proven?" Cal asked him, distracted by his own curiosity.

"I did give a sample of my DNA to a doctor once. Now, hush! I'm trying to concentrate."

"Please don't." The professor tried to wriggle free, but Shawn was persistent.

"Trust me, Cal," he whispered, in a voice so low that there was no way Meek or even Dennis could have heard him. "Help is on the way. I'm playing for time." Opening his eyes, he held Cal's gaze. _Trust me. Please..._

The professor wavered. Finally, he gave an imperceptible nod. _Thank you,_ Shawn mouthed with relief. 

"Aah," he gasped, pulling away as though the contact burned him. " _Aaah!_ I have it. I know exactly where it is. It's like a beacon, calling to me; bip, bip, _beep_." He clambered to his feet and turned to stare at the two-way mirror. "Now you can let them all go, Agent Meek. I'm the only one you need. And I'll prove it to you, if you don't believe me."


	20. Chapter 20

_**"The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist."  
** _ _**(From: 'The Usual Suspects'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Then...**

Juliet transferred her conversation with Agent Driggs to a screen in the conference room and invited the rest of the team to accompany her. Time was of the essence and she really didn't want to be relaying the same information over and over again. Besides, someone else might think of a question that could blow the whole case wide open.

Camden Driggs would not have been her first choice for an inside man, but the only other agent she knew was Lars Ewing and he worked for the Treasury Department. Not helpful. Plus, it would have been more than slightly awkward to involve him. The man had flirted with her shamelessly on his previous visit to Santa Barbara and, right now, she could do without a tiny Shawn-devil on her shoulder, bugging her about her motivation. _Jealousy, thy name is Spencer,_ she grinned, before catching herself and sighing deeply.

Driggs was less muscle, more grave intensity. Discovering that his associate, Tom Fong, was an out-and-out villain had done little to soften his manner - especially since it was Shawn and the others who had brought the whole embarrassing issue to light a month ago. Driggs himself was a straight arrow, but the internal investigation that undoubtedly followed Fong's arrest would have been unpleasant for all concerned. Driggs had lost some of his swagger, she could tell, and deepened those creases between his eyebrows. Fortunately, the webcam and the low light in his office were forgiving.

Or maybe not. "He looks exhausted," Carlton muttered, nudging Juliet with his elbow as he sat down beside her.

"Heavy case load. No problem with my hearing, though," the agent told him gruffly, from the big screen.

"Of course not. And I was being sympathetic."

 _Doubtful._ "Carlton," Juliet hissed. "Now isn't the time. We need his help." What _was_ it with her partner and his love/hate relationship with these guys? Yet another thing she didn't need right now was Carlton acting like a jilted lover just because some self-righteous jerk in a suit that was blacker-than-black didn't give him the respect he both longed for and deserved...

Oh, great. Now _she_ was feeling angry. Probably a residual effect of holding her panic at bay in front of the others. She clenched her fists beneath the table and calmed herself right down. Meanwhile, Vick took over the introductions, shooting a warning glance of her own at Lassiter as she did so.

"Agent Driggs, we never met but I've heard a lot about you." Once again, she looked at Lassiter, who studied his fingernails with care. "My name is Karen Vick. I'm the Chief of the Santa Barbara Police Department. I believe you know everyone else here from your last... erm, visit? Head Detective Carlton Lassiter. His partner, Juliet O'Hara. Burton Guster from Psych, and Henry Spencer, our External Liaison Officer, who also happens to be Shawn's father."

"I remember Junior," Driggs said grimly. "He was reckless and insubordinate. No discipline."

"He also solved your case and put your partner behind bars," Henry retorted, with minimal civility. "Remember _that_ , do you?"

"Like it was only last month." Driggs clenched his jaw. "Oh, wait. It was. I'm not questioning his skill set, Pops, only his attitude. Which, I assume, is how he managed to rattle Meek's cage. Not the wisest move." He tapped the file in front of him. "Talk about your bad apples. Meek is rotten to the core. Shiny on the outside, though."

"Then you do have something for us?" Juliet demanded. Her hopes for this meeting had been high but, so far, all she felt was frustration and a constant, gnawing fear for Shawn's safety.

"Detective O'Hara, intelligence gathering is my sworn duty. Meaning I'm good at it." For a split second, there was a gleam of amusement in the man's eye. Hiding his lapse with a grimace, he flipped open the folder and pulled out a single sheet of paper, heavily scored with dark lines of redaction. "I met him once. Not a pleasant experience. He was part of an R and D project, out in Nevada..."

Gus sat up straight. "You mean Area 51?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of that wretched place." Driggs leaned towards the camera, distorting his glare in a way that made it seem even more intimidating.

"Actually," Gus said, "it's on Google Maps. Look it up."

"I don't Google," Driggs replied haughtily.

"You should. It's very helpful."

"Is that how your 'psychic' solves his cases?"

"Oh, absolutely," Gus retorted, in a voice that was dripping with sarcasm. " _Google_ told us that Tom Fong was a traitor and a thief..."

"Mister Guster!" Chief Vick interrupted. "That will do."

Gus had the grace to look a little guilty. Only a little, though, Juliet observed. "I'm sorry," he said, aiming his apology at Vick, not Driggs - a tactic that would hardly have gone unnoticed by the agent. "But I thought we were here to help Shawn and Dennis. This guy just keeps throwing out insults. I haven't heard a single piece of useful information yet."

Lassiter slammed his hand on the table. "Guster is right," he agreed. "Stop pussyfooting around and give us some solid intel, or this call is over..." He caught Vick's eye. "I mean, when _you_ say it's over, of course, Chief..."

Vick took a long, deliberate breath to steady herself. "Agent Driggs," she said pleasantly. "If you would be so kind...? I believe there will be _no_ more interruptions from the floor." Her stern gaze raked over the occupants of the room, all of whom looked shifty, like a class of unruly children heading for a week's detention. Juliet's cheeks were burning but she kept her chin up and watched the agent closely. Often, it was the things people didn't say that mattered most of all.

"Thank you, ma'am." Driggs nodded politely, unaware of how much Vick hated that particular appellation. "So. You wanted to know if Edgar Meek is a real agent. That's a negative. He's a private contractor, hovering somewhere between the military and the government, employed on and off by either one, or even both together when the need arises. He runs a team of experts and his advice is often sought on matters both scientific and strategic."

"Why?" said Henry. "Sorry, Karen. I know - interruption."

Vick shook her head. "Actually, I have the same question."

"His background is classified, I'm afraid, beyond my pay grade. Suffice it to say, he has contacts - _many_ useful contacts - and a skill for manipulation that would make the Devil himself turn green with envy. That's my own personal observation," Driggs added unnecessarily.

"Like a blackmailer?" Juliet asked.

"Sounds more like a spider to me." Carlton shook his head, with an expression of distaste. "Sitting in the middle of his web, testing the threads... That's a dangerous kind of influence for anyone to have."

Driggs nodded. "Good analogy. But this spider is vicious. He doesn't just sit there - he _strikes_."

"Do you know who he's working for now?"

"I'm afraid not, detective." Driggs actually sounded apologetic. "No one does. Which means either a private client, or..."

"Or he's working for himself this time," Henry finished. "Okay. We got that. Anything else?"

"When you met him..." Gus seemed wary of speaking out again, but his voice grew stronger as he managed to continue without being stopped by Vick or anyone else. "What was he working on then? At the place we discussed - the one in Nevada that may or may not exist?"

Driggs set down the paper and folded his hands together. "Energy," he said.

"Energy?"

"It's a burning issue - no pun intended. A hot topic... That's all I can tell you," the agent said sincerely. "Everything else is..."

"Classified," they all chimed in together.

"Then you understand. I _can_ describe the man as I saw him. If you like?"

"Yes, please," said Juliet eagerly. At this point, every little scrap of information was a breadcrumb on the trail to finding Shawn.

"By his speech, I reckon he comes from a background of wealth and privilege. By his bearing - well, a military school would be my guess. Been there myself; know the type. He's a bully, who deals in cronyism. He's well able to fool those in power, but to cross him is to bring out his true character. We had words... I was unsubtle. I saw the monster lurking." Driggs turned to Henry. "Your son is unsubtle as well. Find him quickly. That's my advice."

"Yes, but where?" Juliet burst out, before she could stop herself.

"I can only give you negatives, I'm afraid. Meek is not at his office in Washington. Nor can I find any evidence of him in Santa Barbara or the surrounding area - and trust me, I looked. Your security tape is the sole proof we have of his involvement. Meek's core team is also off the radar. He's not working for us in any official capacity." Driggs leaned forward again, piercing each of them in turn with his solemn gaze. "Knowing what you _don't_ know... in my business, we call that a good place to start."


	21. Chapter 21

_**"Jack, I'm flying!"  
** _ _**(From: 'Titanic'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

"This really isn't w-w-what I had in mind, Eddie."

It was getting harder and harder to maintain an appropriate level of snarkiness. Shawn didn't want to let Team Spencer down. His plan was a good one - he knew it was - but Meek was clever too.

"I thought you _liked_ movies, Mr. Spencer?"

"N-not this one, thank you very much." Not even Billy Zane's awesomeness (and here Shawn paused to dwell on it for a moment) could make him watch 'Titanic' ever, _ever_ again. The first time had been one too many, in his opinion. It was long, and it was sad, and it was _true_ , according to Gus. And - oh, great - now the theme was playing in his head. Celine Dion, sailing with him to his doom. Nothing to fear? How he wished he could agree with her.

Meek finished tying the last knot and surveyed his handiwork with no small measure of pride. "Did you really think that we would sit down for a cosy chat over a couple of charts? I still think you're wasting my time and I intend to make you pay. You say you can feel it calling to you, like a beacon. Then go ahead and prove your ridiculous claim - or this won't be the only scene from the movie I decide to re-enact. I do hope you and your friend can swim."

"Oh, ye of little faith," Shawn taunted the man, though his heart wasn't in it anymore.

"What, because I'm not gullible enough to fall for your patter? You're the Wizard of Oz - a charlatan, and not a very good one."

"Wrong." Shawn's teeth were clenched together. "I'm an honest-to-goodness psychic and I predict that you're the one who's going down, Jack."

"As I told you before," his nemesis answered smoothly, "my name is Edgar Meek. And I'll thank you to remember it."

"No chance I'll ever forget," Shawn muttered, testing the bonds that held him to the rail by his wrists. Another length of rope was lashed around his waist, forcing him to remain upright. The two men were standing at the prow of the Copernicus, but Meek had one advantage over him.

He could step away.

It was dark, but the moon was full and Shawn could clearly make out the heaving ocean before him, endless and inescapable. It seemed to be his destiny. The bow rose and fell in a sickening motion, bringing back his nausea in a truly violent way, like a sucker punch to the gut.

So much for the view in front of him. He turned his head and tried to look back.

"We're still here, Shawn," Dennis called out to him. No doubt, he meant to sound cheery and encouraging but it came out as more of a desperate squawk.

"G-good to know, buddy. How're you holding up?"

"Gravity," said Dennis, with a hoarse chuckle. Okay, so _that_ joke was catching on.

"I'm cold," Cal complained, sounding more like his alien persona than the professor right now. More bad news. Obviously, he had retreated to a safe space in his brain. To be honest, Shawn couldn't blame him.

"Me too, Cal; me too. Try and think warm thoughts, okay? Mind over m-matter..." Oh yes, it was easy enough to picture a roaring fire, with marshmallows toasting, and a big mug of cocoa - until the spray rose up and hit you full in the face for the umpteenth time, shattering your illusions and soaking you to the skin. Idly, Shawn questioned which would be more dangerous to life and limb (specifically _his_ life) - hypothermia or pneumonia. Good job Gus wasn't here to give him the scary details.

"Well," said Meek. "I've enjoyed our little chats this evening, but there's a nice, cosy bunk waiting for me in my cabin, so I'll leave you in the stimulating company of my associates."

"Who - Dumb and Dumber?" Shawn couldn't resist. The words tripped off his tongue before he could drag them back. Apparently, his sense of humour had gone rogue.

"You really do have a problem with names, don't you? Never mind; I'm sure you're about to get very well acquainted. Here's how it's going to work. Every time you 'channel' a course correction, they'll pass it on to the bridge. I for one am intrigued to see where you take us, Mr. Spencer. I can't imagine how you think this strategy is going to save you both from a watery grave. Good luck - and good night."

**-x0x-**

If he pictured Juliet in perfect detail, Shawn wondered, could he compel her to appear? The thought was quite distracting; so much so that he actually began to try. The cold was seeping into his brain and messing with his sanity, but he clung to the sweetest memory he had - that moment at Prospect Point when he finally found his courage. He could still see the look in Juliet's eyes, and feel the tingle that surged through his body when they touched; an electric shock of the very best kind. He was concentrating so hard, and losing himself so completely in the past that it actually frightened him when the next big wave shocked him back to reality. "Gaah!" he cried, spitting repeatedly in an attempt to purge the bitter taste from his mouth. "Are you kidding me with this?"

A large hand landed on his shoulder. "Look," said a rough voice, "you gotta stay awake. Sleeping's all very well, but you got a job to do."

 _Yes - I have to keep us alive till someone rescues us._ Shawn tried to pull away from Bluto's touch. It had been a big surprise to find that the hairy oaf was one of their guards. He had pegged the man as part of Yoly's crew, not another of Edgar's minions. Had Bluto switched sides, or was he just playing along in order to keep the captain and his crewmates safe? Sure, he was grumpy, and badly in want of a shower (not to mention an orthodontist) but that didn't make him evil. Right?

"It was a really good dream," Shawn sighed, eyeing Bluto thoughtfully.

"You're tougher than that, psychic," the sailor mumbled in his ear. "Good dream or not, you want it to be your last? Hang in there."

"What choice... d-do I have?" he shivered. "But thanks for the pep talk, coach."

"Hey," said a second voice; that of the 'agent' who had dragged Cal from the nerd closet. Sidekick Number One, who was clearly a whole lot smarter than Marcus, his cartoon double. Wherever did Meek _find_ such brutes? The bargain basement of Thugs-R-Us? "Step back. This isn't a social event."

"I was jus' checking the rope," Bluto lied, fumbling at the knots for good measure. "Thought it was loose, alright? Don't want him escaping again."

"Why? You think he can take you?"

"I do have some pretty good moves," Shawn interjected, with as much vigour as he could muster. He didn't want them to think he was beaten, no matter how low he felt. "Hey, how about this? We could try it and see. Everyone loves an underdog..."

"Shut up," hissed Bluto.

"Really? 'Shut up' again? That's all you've got? When there are so many colourful alternatives? Like Scottish." Shawn dragged out his very best accent. "'Haud yer wheesht'. Don't you love that? Or, you know, I could 'put a sock in it' - sounds like a Muppet, right? Then there's 'cut the cackle'. Or 'dry up'..."

"How about ' _belt_ up', before I belt _you_?" Sidekick Number One told him forcefully.

"See?" Shawn said to Bluto. "That's how you do it. A little imagination works wonders. I'll be shutting up now. Though, you know..."

"Shawn," Dennis urged him, "sense the tone."

Bluto's hand squeezed tightly on Shawn's collarbone and then let go. With the heavy weight gone, Shawn felt as though he could have floated right up into the air - if he wasn't tied down. "Listen to your friend," was the sailor's parting shot as he stepped back out of sight.

"Al-ways," Shawn sang out.

For a while, there was silence, of a sort. Shawn hated silence, and never more so than right now. With no one in his field of vision, he felt entirely alone with the stars and the moon, and the dark, dark sea. The banter had warmed him for a while but now his teeth were chattering again and his legs were shaky. Biting his lip, he drew blood by accident. The taste was strong in his mouth, even stronger than the salt water he had inadvertently swallowed after the last big wave. _Gus would be pleased,_ he thought randomly. _Tasting blood, just like he wanted._ His wrists were throbbing and his fingers were icy cold as they curled around the metal rail, clinging on through force of habit rather than necessity.

Maybe another 'vision' would help to pass the time.

He closed his eyes and swayed. It wasn't hard to act. "I feel the pull," he crooned. "We need to turn again..."

"Oh, really?" Sidekick Number One sounded less than impressed.

"Which way?" said Dennis, trying to help. He sounded weary but determined.

"Starboard." That was 'right' - right? "Follow the stars..." He wished he had paid more attention during his brief stint at the observatory. Time to vague it up. "Three in a row... They point the way."

"Orion's Belt," said Bluto unexpectedly, coming back to the rail and staring upwards. "What?" he challenged Shawn, who was gazing at him in astonishment. "I'm a sailor. You think I don't know stars?"

"Fine. You want us to turn right. I get it." Sidekick Number One was sounding bored by this time. Shawn heard the crackle of the radio, and a faint buzz that meant someone else was speaking on the other end. "What?" said Number One, sharply. "What do you mean, she's gone, Marcus?"

 _Uh oh,_ thought Shawn.

 _Buzz,_ went the little voice again. "I see," was the tight reply. "Fine. I'll handle it. Oh - and Mister Potter here wants us to change course again. Head for Orion's Belt." Pause. "Three stars in a row, you idiot."

All of a sudden, Bluto was pulled back and Number One took his place.

"Now, tell me this," the man breathed at Shawn - quite literally, as Shawn was enveloped by his breath, in clouds, as though the thug was morphing into some kind of angry dragon. "Where are the girl and her mother?"

"Who?" said Shawn with exaggerated politeness.

Number One grabbed hold of his left pinky and began to ease it backwards. Strangely, Shawn felt little pain - but he knew there would be plenty of it in his future if he didn't act now. "Oh, you mean Maya and Yoly?" He shrugged. "Can't really say. I mean, I know when I saw them last... But I've been hanging out with you guys for the longest time, so they could be anywhere by now-ow- _ow_!" And there it was at last. He almost welcomed it; the fire that spread along his finger and into his palm. Feeling anything at all was better than the creeping numbness that he dreaded.

"Cut him loose," snapped Number One to Bluto.

"Are you sure?" said Shawn. His wobbly voice betrayed his fear. _Curse you_ , he told it, deliriously. "Meek put me here for a reason. You don't want to disobey him, do you?" All of a sudden, the rail seemed like a lovely place to spend the night. Nice view, great company...

"I'll take my chances," Number One replied, as Bluto pulled out a penknife and began to saw at the thick wet rope that bound Shawn's waist to the rail. 


	22. Chapter 22

_**"You know, the ocean. The big blue wet thing."  
** _ _**(From: 'Muppet Treasure Island'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Then...**

Lassiter was staring at his steepled fingers and frowning intently when Burton Guster rolled on over, catching hold of the desk just in time before his office chair, and Newton's law of motion, could propel him deep into Henry Spencer territory. At least the consultants' consultant (as Lassiter liked to call him) was off bothering someone else for a change. Henry meant well, he knew, but no one wants a bull-headed ex-cop clocking their every move from the opposite desk, more often than not with a glare that seemed to say (in Lassiter's mind at least): _you're not doing that right._

Gus looked anxious but determined. Shawn was on everyone's mind today. Lassiter had a sneaking suspicion that he would like that very much. _I wonder if your ears are burning, Spencer - wherever you are,_ he mused.

"Do we have a plan yet?" Gus said eagerly, not so much interrupting as completely derailing Lassiter's train of thought; uncoupling connections; spilling ideas everywhere...

_Okay, stop._

With a sigh that was heavier than he had intended, Lassiter turned to face the man. "Look. I know you and Spencer are firm believers in the dubious art of 'winging it' but here at the SBPD, we like to engage in what we call 'real police work'."

"I see." Gus studied him for a moment or two. "You mean you're thinking."

"I do that sometimes, yes. Whatever Spencer might say."

"No, no. Thinking's good. I mean... any good thoughts?"

"Actually, yes. I'm having one right now," the detective replied. "It involves me being left in peace to do my job." Catching his partner's eye from across the room, he continued sweetly. "No offence."

Gus nodded. "None taken. I know you're worried too."

"What? No! I mean, I'm concerned, of course; we all are..." Lassiter took a deep breath and tried again. "Here's the thing. Spencer - and I can't believe I'm saying this - Spencer knows how to handle himself in a crisis. He's like... a cat. With nine lives, and far too many annoying habits. You know what, Guster? It's the kidnappers I feel sorry for." He reached out and patted Gus on the leg. "Feel better now?"

"Not really. Lassie, he's my best friend. I know _exactly_ what he's capable of. That's the problem." Gus gave Juliet a sideways glance and lowered his voice. "Please, let me do something useful. I'm going nuts here. If you tell me what you're thinking, maybe I can help. Shawn..." He swallowed visibly. "Shawn always likes to bounce _his_ theories around."

"You mean the guy who runs off at the drop of a hat, chasing rainbows and moonbeams?"

"Carlton," said a tight voice behind him. "Can I talk to you?"

Uh-oh. When had O'Hara left her desk? Lassiter turned around sheepishly. "What?" he protested. "I was just offering moral support. Right, Guster?"

"He did try to reassure me," Gus confirmed, gazing earnestly at Juliet. "It was very helpful. The pat on the leg was a nice touch. Not at all patronising. And he's been thinking... sorry, I meant working on some kind of angle." Lassiter could feel the trap closing in around him as Gus continued. The man's technique was mildly impressive. Almost Spencer-like, in fact. "He was just about to fill me in. _Right_ , Lassie?"

"Oh, very well." It was, after all, the perfect way to deflect O'Hara's indignation at his alleged lack of tact. And he could see by the way his partner was controlling her expression that she needed support, not an argument. Shawn may be annoying in the extreme, but a lot of people cared about him. As Head Detective, it was Lassiter's duty to step up and see them all through this.

 _Besides,_ he found himself thinking unexpectedly. _The man does crack cases like a fiend; there's no denying it. And things would be far too quiet around here without him..._

"Spencer isn't the only one missing," he blurted out, squashing the errant thought with alacrity.

"Obvious but true," said O'Hara. "Go on."

"We know all about Dennis too, and why Meek chose to take them both along for the ride, thanks to what I must confess is a damn fine system back at nerd central. The Gogolack residence," he clarified for Gus.

"And Shawn's quick thinking," O'Hara interjected once again.

"And... yes, I suppose so." Lassiter waved his hand airily. "But I'm still curious about this new friend of theirs. Cal, you called him?"

"The alien. Yes," said Guster.

Lassiter turned and looked him full in the face. "Do you really believe that?" he said incredulously. "I mean - aliens. How gullible can anybody...?"

"Carlton!" O'Hara hissed. This time, she was close enough to elbow him, and he winced. "Not helpful."

"I know, but _really..._ Okay, fine. Tell me again where the _alien_ turned up."

She folded her arms. "On the beach. It was Shawn who discovered him, not me."

"Ah!" He held up a cautionary finger. "On the beach... or in the water? 'Shawn dragged him out.' Wasn't that what you said originally?"

"Good memory." O'Hara's rigid self-control began to slip and a tiny smile broke through. Lassiter was pleased to see it. "Yes. Shawn said he found Cal in the water, mostly dead - his words - and he pulled him onto the sand... Oh! I see what you mean."

"Could somebody please fill _me_ in?" Gus complained, glancing from one detective to the other. "What have we just worked out?"

" _Why_ was Cal in the water?" O'Hara's eyes were alight with the excitement of their breakthrough. "There are only two possible options. Number one - he waded out there, fully clothed, possibly to... well, you know, and the ocean carried him back to shore. Number two..."

"He _came_ from the ocean!" Gus exclaimed. "Like Aquaman. No, wait... You think he could have fallen from a ship, or a boat, or a dinghy or something. Right?"

Lassiter nodded. "Driggs said he couldn't find any trace of Meek and his crew in Santa Barbara or the surrounding area. What if they _are_ close by, but not on land? What if they're out on the ocean somewhere?"

"It does make sense," O'Hara agreed. "But Carlton - you know what that means."

"I know," he sighed. "Believe me."

"Then who's going to tell Chief Vick?"

**-x0x-**

In the end, it was Lassiter himself who drew the short straw - or cheese straw, since that was the closest thing they could find. (McNab surrendered them happily once it had been agreed that he could be the umpire.) It seemed fitting that the head detective should be the one to do the dreadful deed. His idea, his problem. His past history with that problem, thanks to the sibling rivalry that had seemed so thrilling right up to the point when he became a pawn in Barbara Dunlap's game.

Lassiter cleared his throat nervously and knocked on the Chief's door.

"Come in," said Vick, looking up with hopeful expectation. "Something new to report? Have you found them?"

"Ah - no. But I... that is to say, we... have come up with an idea that might be of some..." Dammit. Why was he so nervous all of a sudden? This almost never happened to him and he really didn't like it. Lassiter clenched his fists and started again. "Chief Vick. O'Hara and I believe that Meek and his team could be out on the water. Which means we need to alert..."

"...the coastguard," Vick finished grimly. "I see." She fixed Lassiter with an impenetrable glare. "Tell me this isn't a ruse to start things up with my sister again."

Was she joking? Sometimes, Lassiter found it hard to tell. "Not a chance," he promised.

She thawed, just a little, but seemed suspicious. "You never did tell me what happened between the two of you. Neither did Barbara, if you're wondering. Not that it's any of _my_ business, of course. You're only my head detective and she's only my big sister."

"Oh," said Lassiter, feigning carelessness. "It was an amicable split. I didn't want to be the cause of any more friction between you, so I thought it best to decline her generous offer. We had coffee and a sandwich - an excellent tuna Niçoise, if memory serves - at some café on the boardwalk. That's all."

Vick thawed some more. She narrowed her eyes. "You told her the dead clown story, didn't you, Carlton?"

"Does everyone know about that?" he protested, feeling hard done by. "As a matter of fact, I did. It's a classic and, what's more, she enjoyed it. That wasn't the problem..." Oops. Too late. The words were out of his mouth and the Chief was preparing to pounce. Far better to offer a full confession, freely given, than force her to drag it out of him. "If you must know..." He lowered his voice to a murmur and Vick leaned forwards. "Things were going pretty well until we had... a vigorous discussion over who should pay for lunch. Like a gentleman, I let her win. And when she said goodbye... well, she made it perfectly clear..." He studied the well-polished tips of his shoes. "She thought I was too soft. Ridiculous, but there it is. Don't tell anyone," he added solemnly. His cheeks, he knew, were pink.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Vick said with a blissful smile. "Thank you for your honesty. I'll call my sister now."


	23. Chapter 23

_**"I believe you have underestimated me and the element of surprise."  
(From: 'Get Smart'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

If life were a Saturday morning cartoon, Shawn liked to imagine that he would be Bugs Bunny. Quick-witted, optimistic and ever so slightly anarchic, not to mention awesome at baseball - surely that described him to a T (and wasn't _that_ a curious phrase?).

Right now, however, he was feeling more like an ill-used coyote, staring up in horror at the anvil that was plummeting towards him...

 _Don't be ridiculous. Tell it like it is,_ he thought harshly. _You're scared, and with good reason._

His luck, which was normally golden, seemed to be running out at last and its timing was far from perfect. He stumbled along the deck, the gun at his back a brutal warning not to falter. He strongly suspected that Sidekick Numero Uno was a man who kept his promise, and that promise was a deadly one. _Behave, or I'll shoot you._ Couldn't be clearer and, for once in his life, Shawn found that there was nothing more to say. Fear had silenced him at last. Meanwhile, the pain in his hand was all-consuming, radiating outwards until even his teeth were aching with the strain of trying not to scream out loud. He shielded it protectively, knowing that if he touched it, even once, he would lose that particular battle. His poor broken finger stuck out at a hideous angle. Just looking at it was enough to make him shudder.

Where were they going, exactly? The bridge? Meek's cabin? A deep, dark hole? Wait! Did ships have gangplanks - and was _that_ an option? He longed to know, yet couldn't bring himself to ask. By encouraging Yoly to free her daughter, Shawn had undoubtedly sealed his own fate. Would he do it again, he wondered, given the chance?

Of course he would.

 _Because I never_ _learn,_ he sighed. Like Wile E. Coyote, he always failed to look before he leapt, relying on half-assed plans, or no plan at all, dazzled by the shining possibility of success. He had felt so sorry for the captain. That sympathy alone had convinced him that he was right to act. "And I was," he muttered, angry with himself for doubting it. "We saved Maya."

But had they really? Mother and daughter were still trapped on the ship (unless they had taken a lifeboat and fled, as he began to hope) and it was only a matter of time before the bad guys found them again. _Not with my help,_ he thought stoutly, trying to avoid the undeniable truth that his courage had limits and he was perilously close to them.

A door creaked. A shadow shifted. There was a _thunk_ behind him and a grunt of surprise, followed by the sound of something heavy dropping to the deck.

Shawn spun on his heel and found himself confronted by the most triumphant smile that he had ever seen. Yoly still brandished the wrench above her head like a club. It was massive and covered in grease; a formidable tool (and improvised weapon) if ever there was one. He didn't envy Sidekick Number One the headache he would have when he finally awoke. Though the man _had_ broken his finger. Shawn frowned. Talk about confusing. Payback was a tricky concept, guilt-wise.

His mouth worked silently as he tried to find the right words to express his gratitude for the timely rescue. " _Thank_ you," he said at last, keeping it simple and trusting that the look in his eyes would convey the rest.

"One good turn," Yoly told him gruffly, just as embarrassed as he was. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"I can't. Not yet. Cal and Dennis..." Shawn nodded in the direction of the prow, wary of moving his hands in case Yoly noticed the state of his finger. Her sharp eyes had already picked up on the fact that he was soaking wet and shivering. Shawn dropped his gaze, ashamed for no reason that he could explain.

"That way?" Her query was short and to the point.

"Yes," he replied, still looking at his feet. "With Bluto."

"Who...? Oh!" Yoly chuckled, and did not correct him. "That's a keeper."

Shawn's lips twitched. "You know that's right," he crooned softly.

The captain bent down and retrieved the gun, which lay close to the rail. Raising her eyebrows, she offered it to Shawn but he shook his head mutely.

"I'll take it," said a voice behind them.

"You most certainly will not." Yoly turned to face her daughter. Maya's arms were folded and her expression was defiant. "I thought I told you to wait down below."

"And who's going to look out for you?" the dark-eyed teen demanded. "This guy?"

Shawn stuck out his free hand, without thinking. "Hi," he said. "We've not been introduced. Shawn Spencer, psychic detective, alien babysitter, pineapple enthusiast and all-around good guy. You must be Maya."

"Ooh. Did the spirits tell you that?" she challenged him, grinning in a friendly way. Shawn smiled back. He couldn't help it.

"No," he said. "Your mother did."

Yoly had finally noticed his finger. "Shawn! That hand of yours is a mess. Why did you hide it? We'll have to tape it up somehow."

"Oh, no, we won't. It's okay, really," Shawn lied unhappily, not relishing the thought. "Not as bad as it looks, you know? Just... a sprain." In the absence of Gus, his walking medical dictionary, he wasn't really sure what that meant but it sounded far less serious than 'broken'. 'Broken' implied fragments. Cracks. A whole lot of painful mending to be done... 'Sprain' was a nice, simple word for a nice, simple injury.

"Then why are you biting your lip?" Maya asked as she sidled closer and slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow, much to his surprise. "Mom can help you. She's great at first aid."

Distraction was his only hope. "After we rescue my friends. Okay? I promise..." Mentally, he crossed his fingers, hoping that would count.

Yoly scowled at her daughter, who blithely ignored her. In silence, they set off towards the prow, leaving Sidekick Number One in the shadows where the captain had dragged and dropped him. Maya held the wrench by now, and Yoly carried the gun. She was tense, and clearly unhappy, but handled the weapon with confidence, Shawn noticed with relief. As he shuffled along, he found himself leaning on Maya, who was stronger than she looked. His legs were still shaky and he didn't trust himself to walk alone. Perhaps, with an echo of her mother's keen perception, she had recognised his plight.

"Thanks for the shoulder," he murmured. "I'll be okay in a jiffy. It's the Spencer genes. We're tough as nails."

"Stubborn as a mule, more like," Yoly said. She would have elaborated, but Shawn held up his free hand in an urgent call for silence.

 _Voices,_ he mouthed. _Up ahead,_ said the motion of his chin.

There was nowhere to hide. Shawn's heart began to thump heavily in his chest, as though it were bouncing on a trampoline, higher and higher each time, aiming for his throat... He swallowed and peered through the gloom. _Someone_ was coming - a very large someone, and that didn't bode well for Team Spencer.

"Captain?" said the Very Large Someone. "Is that you? I got 'em; look."

And Bluto stepped out of the darkness, with Cal and Dennis following close behind him. Both of them were smiling broadly. More to the point, they were free.

 _Oh,_ thought Shawn, too exhausted to comment out loud, or even follow that thought to its limits in his usual manner. A wave of relief washed over him and his heart abandoned its gymnastic exertions.

Maybe he _was_ a wascally wabbit instead of a broken coyote. And maybe, just maybe his luck was still golden after all.


	24. Chapter 24

**_Nani: "I shouldn't have yelled at you."_ **   
**_Lilo: "We're sisters. It's our job."_ **   
**_(From: 'Lilo and Stitch'.)_ **

**-x0x-**

**Then...**

Commander Dunlap's office was immaculate. Gus admired precision as much as the next guy (always assuming the next guy wasn't Shawn Spencer) but this went far beyond a passion for neatness. He had never seen such rigorous attention to the perpendicular. Every article of furniture was lined up neatly. Every poster on the wall looked as though a spirit level had been used to keep it straight. The files were stacked, the pens were ranged in colours and even the stapler was squared away.

"Nice angles," he found himself saying, to fill the awkward silence that followed the team's untidy entrance.

The commander looked up and stared at him appraisingly. With a sinking feeling, Gus remembered how much she had unnerved him during their first case together. "Thanks. You can learn a lot from a person's desk. I keep mine the same way I run my crew."

"What," said Chief Vick, "rigid and controlling?"

Dunlap wasn't fazed by the insult. Her mouth twitched. "I prefer organised and efficient. Not really sure what a glass fish says about _you_ ," she retorted.

"It says she can handle the heat," Lassiter offered, to everyone's surprise. "Grace under pressure. Very fitting for the chief of police. Ma'am," he added archly. When Dunlap's head snapped around, he only raised his eyebrows, but Gus, who knew him well by now, could tell that he was pleased by her reaction. (So was Chief Vick, he observed.)

The Psych boys had often wondered what happened on that fateful lunch date between the head detective and the chief's sister. Lassie had been so keen - yet, the following day, no amount of wheedling could draw out any information. And Shawn could wheedle with the best of them, thought Gus.

While Lassiter folded his arms and looked smug, Dunlap recovered her composure and proceeded to ignore him altogether.

"What can I do for you, Karen?" she demanded. "The message you left was hardly specific. Is this some kind of field trip for the kids at the SBPD? I can offer you snacks, but you're not playing with my toys. Where's Spencer? He's the biggest kid of all. Don't tell me he's out there annoying my team with his antics?"

"Shawn is missing," Henry told her curtly, giving her a glare that ranked at number three - milk-curdling - on yet another sliding scale that Shawn and Gus had developed in their youth. Unfortunately, Barbara Dunlap was made of stronger stuff than milk. She glared right back and Gus began to wonder if this was more like number ten: a matter/antimatter situation. He edged a little closer to the door.

"Missing." Dunlap nodded. "And...?"

"We think he's on a boat," said Juliet, trying to be the voice of reason in a room that was loaded with all kinds of tension. " _Remember why we're here,_ " she hissed at her partner.

"So, lost at sea." Suddenly, Dunlap was all business. "Well then, you've come to the right place. Manners!" she yelled, making everyone jump.

"I was _being_ polite," Juliet protested, looking hurt - until a young woman bounced through the door and snapped to attention.

 _Oh,_ thought Gus. He studied the woman with interest.

Manners was a junior version of her boss, right down to the short blond hair and the flashing eyes. Gus could just imagine Shawn's reaction. _Look,_ his friend would say, _Commander Babs has found herself a mini-me..._

 _Oh, behave,_ he told himself firmly. Now was not the time to be channelling Shawn Spencer. Or Austin Powers, for that matter.

"Yes, Commander Dunlap?"

"Ensign Manners, I have a job for you. It's very important."

" _Yes,_ Commander Dunlap." Manners could barely contain her excitement.

"Coffee for our guests, while I talk to the Chief of Police, here."

Gus had never seen anyone look quite so deflated. "I don't need a drink," he said stoutly. "And I'd like to stay, if that's alright with you?" He glanced around at the rest of the team. "I suspect the others feel the same."

"Well said, Guster." Wait, was Lassiter actually giving him a compliment? "Real men don't drink coffee when there's work to be done."

 _Real men?_ Juliet mouthed to Vick, full of astonishment. The chief shrugged. She almost seemed to be enjoying herself.

Placing both hands on her sister's perfect desk, Vick leaned forwards. "Look, Barbara. We don't have time for this. Shawn and his friends have been kidnapped by a serious adversary. This is high level stuff. We think Meek is hiding on the water somewhere. Will you help us find him?"

"Are you saying you can't do this without me?" Dunlap grinned. There was a note of genuine humour in her tone by now, and Gus could tell that the mood in the room had finally shifted.

"I'm saying we need to do this by the book. Join forces. I'm not about to risk the lives of innocent civilians because you..." Vick paused and smiled at her sister grimly. "Because _we_ can't control our petty squabbling."

"Innocent? Spencer?" Dunlap winked at Gus to show that she was still joking. "That'll be the day. Very well, then. I accept your apology, Karen." The chief ground her teeth but knew better than to take the bait when she was actually winning. "Manners, bring the drinks in here - and you can join us. It seems we all have a lot to discuss."

**-x0x-**

In a tumbling, tag-team fashion Gus and the others laid out the bare bones of the case for Commander Dunlap and her ensign. Dunlap chose to listen first, before asking any questions, showing a degree of restraint that was both surprising and professional. As Manners left with the empty mugs (and cookie tin) on a loaded tray, Dunlap folded her arms and frowned.

"Okay. Question number one. This Edgar Meek. Does he have any maritime links that your Washington contact is aware of?"

"Driggs didn't say - but I can ask him." Juliet pulled out her phone and left the room. Dunlap nodded in appreciation of her prompt reaction.

"Far too easy, I know, but sometimes the easy answer _is_ the right one. Criminals make dumb mistakes, and that's the way we catch them. Question number two. What else do you know about this 'Cal'?"

"Aside from the fact that Spencer thinks he comes from a galaxy far, far away?" Lassiter remarked.

"No, he _doesn't_. Look, neither of us do, okay?" Gus was growing tired of the jibes. "I can't answer for Dennis - it's kind of his thing. But contrary to popular belief," and here he scowled at Lassiter, "Shawn and I are not that gullible."

"Putting a pin in that thought for now - what you're telling me is, Cal's just cuckoo?" Clearly, Dunlap had little time for political correctness. Once again, Gus wondered why it was that she and Lassiter had failed to hit it off.

"He has some issues with reality, if that's what you mean," he said with dignity.

Dunlap ignored the rebuke, delivering one of her own instead. "So you don't know _anything_ about the man behind the mystery? Like his actual name?"

"Not yet." Vick's admission was a painful one. "We're working on that." Which meant, as Gus knew, that Buzz McNab was currently ploughing through a backlog of missing person reports, while simultaneously running facial recognition software against a sketch that both Gus and Juliet had put together in collaboration with the SBPD's resident artist.

"And you think that Shawn is on a boat because...?"

"Our 'alien' came from the water," Gus said, feeling quite despondent. Lassiter's theory was really starting to bend in the face of Dunlap's cynicism. He hoped it wouldn't break down altogether. It was the only good lead that they had. Without it, Shawn could be absolutely anywhere - and that was a scary thought.

Just then, Juliet returned, with Manners close behind her. There was an air of excitement about them both, like a fresh wind blowing through a stuffy room when someone is smart enough to open all the windows.

Gus held his breath and waited for her to speak, but it was Henry who got there first.

"You found Shawn!" he exclaimed.

"I think..." Juliet looked as though she could hardly believe it herself. "I think we did! It's not all good news, though," she continued; words which would have been more convincing were it not for the light in her eyes. _At last,_ her expression said. _At last..._

"Commander, there's a message for you." Ensign Manners stepped forward, eager to be the one who delivered the facts. "In the radio room. From a research vessel called the Copernicus. Captain's asking for you by name. Says she knows Spencer..."

Dunlap rose to her feet with a surge of authority. "Follow me," she bid them all, and even her sister did not need telling twice.

"Shawn's okay," Gus muttered to himself, full of relief, as he tagged along behind the others. "He's okay..."

**-x0x-**

_"_... _I'm afraid he's not okay,"_ said the voice on the other end of the radio. _"_ _But he's still alive - at least, he was ten minutes ago - and he helped me liberate my daughter from her cabin before he was taken again. We're all prisoners here, more or less, of a man named Meek."_

"We know about Meek," said Vick, as Henry paced up and down behind her. "And I hope this isn't putting you at risk, Captain...?"

_"Bale. Yolanta Bale. No, I don't think they've noticed we're missing yet. If I can stay in hiding, Maya will be safe. But Shawn..."_

"Is Dennis there too? And Cal?" Gus broke in, unable to hold back any longer.

 _"I haven't seen this Dennis, but I know Shawn was looking for him. As for Calum Riley, he's a friend of mine; one of the scientists who often use this vessel for their research. He's been on sabbatical for over a year, until Meek brought him back on board, two weeks ago. That was when this whole thing started... Wait! Someone's coming. I have to go."_ The captain's voice was full of regret. _"Come quickly, please."_

"We will," Commander Dunlap reassured her. "Take your daughter and stay out of sight until we get there."

 _"That's exactly what Shawn told me to..."_ The message went dead in the middle of Bale's final comment. Gus felt a prickle of dread run down his spine.

"Well," said Dunlap. "Your man Spencer really is surprisingly resourceful. Doesn't look it, mind, but I never put much store in looks." She glanced at Lassiter, who adopted a nonchalant expression that fooled precisely no one.

"Yes," said Karen Vick with quiet pride, catching Henry's eye and smiling. "Yes, he is. And that would be why I hired him in the first place. Now, let's go and rescue my psychic, shall we, since he was kind enough to send us a personal invitation?"


	25. Chapter 25

_**"Pain demands to be felt."  
** _ _**(From: 'The Fault in Our Stars'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

"You weren't kidding about the hidey-holes," Shawn remarked to Bluto. "Congratulations. This is a charming spot." His tone was one hundred percent pure sarcasm but Bluto chose to take his comment at face value and gave a toothy smile of satisfaction.

They had crept right into the belly of the ship, like Pinocchio inside the whale, and were tucked away in a tiny space that, judging by the noise and the smell, was horribly close to the engine. Shawn tried not to gag but motor oil had never been his favourite scent. Monstro's stomach, full of half-digested fish, would actually have been preferable to this nasty metal box. Add to that the incessant loud noise, the pain in his hand and the nagging sense of fear...

"Do we really have to stay here?" he complained. His nerves were jangling so badly by now that his whole body twitched, apart from his aching finger, which he continued to guard fiercely. Descending this far had been a trial but there was worse to come. Captain Yoly had gone off in search of a first aid kit. Shawn dreaded her return.

He crouched down in the gap between two electrical panels, hugging himself to hide the tremors that ran through his limbs. It was hot enough down here to dry his clothes directly on his body, but that only left him feeling clammy and strange. He began to suspect that he really had caught a chill out there on the deck, in the middle of his 'Kate and Leo' moment. It would be just his luck to start sneezing next, and give them all away.

"It _is_ pretty cosy," Dennis agreed. He seemed to have taken on Cal as his own responsibility, fussing about him with a motherly air that was strangely endearing. Shawn knew how disappointed his friend must have been to learn that the professor did _not_ come from somewhere left of Pluto, but he had to admit, Dennis was hiding it well.

"Shame it isn't bigger on the inside," Shawn quipped, trying to lift the man's spirits with a little sci-fi humour.

Dennis gave a weary grin. "Where's the Doctor when you need him, right?"

"Mom'll be back soon - don't worry." Maya plopped herself down in front of Shawn and gave him a smile that was clearly meant to reassure him. "She's the fix-it queen. Does it hurt a lot? Your finger, I mean?"

Appreciating the sentiment, he chose not to correct her misunderstanding and gave Dennis a quick shake of the head to forestall a long-winded explanation of the Whovian canon.

"Oh," he said quietly, "you know..." If anyone else had asked him, he would have gone into great detail about the excruciating pain that was radiating through his hand - because, oddly, words helped - but this was a young girl and here she was, trying to bolster _his_ courage... _That's messed up,_ Shawn sighed, and resolved to do better.

"Mom says you're the one who saved me."

"If you mean the one who almost ran himself right into the ocean while she freed you from your cabin, then I guess so, yes." He shrugged. Modesty was not something he practiced on a regular basis, but he was a little thrown by the intensity of her gaze. "You really are your mother's daughter, aren't you?" It was intended to be a compliment, and he hoped she would take it that way.

"Peas in a pod," Bluto said gruffly. "'S true," he protested, when Maya turned to glare at him.

"I'm me," she insisted, and Shawn smiled to hear the mixture of teenage pride and insecurity crammed into that tiny phrase. He knew this girl after all. He understood her. She, too, suffered from an overwhelming parent, and had risen to the challenge with more than her fair share of gusto.

"How long were you locked up?" he asked her, changing the subject in order to alleviate some of the tension in the 'room'.

"Two weeks," she replied with feeling. "I started a tally on the wall, like they do in prison."

"How do you know about...?"

"How do you think? I did a stint in juvie..." When she saw the look on his face, Maya burst out laughing. "That's a joke. You know, to lighten the mood? I watch TV. Don't you?"

"Only all the time." Funnily enough, he _did_ feel better. He was about to give them a humorous account of the time he played Chad in a Spanish soap opera, when Yoly reappeared, squeezing into their bolt hole with a look of relief. She was clutching a red case.

"Oh, good," said Shawn, in a flat voice. "You found it."

"It's only a small pack, I'm afraid. We'll have to improvise a little. I couldn't get to the main one, which is on the bridge." Yoly kept her tone light but the way she carried herself betrayed her true feelings. "It's safe to say they know we're missing. You too," she told Bluto, who scowled. "That was a risky move you pulled."

"But we're very, very grateful," Dennis added hastily, nudging the big man who crouched beside him, looking for all the world like a simian extra from 'Greystoke: The Legend of Tarzan'.

 _Me Bluto,_ Shawn thought incongruously. Sometimes, he really couldn't help himself. _You scrawny white ape._

"I was tired of playin' along," the big guy muttered, scratching his beard in a way that made Shawn want to giggle. "'Sides, your friend here doesn't look like much of a swimmer. Thought he was in trouble. Glad he's not."

Shawn turned to him in shock. "Wait - you were trying to save _me_?"

Bluto shrugged. "These two were givin' me grief," he explained. Dennis winked at Shawn and pointed a finger at the big man behind his back, neatly contradicting his claim.

Shawn raised his eyebrows but chose not to push the matter any further. He did keep one eye on Bluto for a while, though, fascinated by the man's uncomfortable expression. No matter how well he thought he could read people, it was refreshing to know that they could still surprise him.

"Right," said Yoly, breaking into his reverie. "Let's do this."

Suddenly, all the attention was focussed on Shawn, and not in the good way he normally craved. The room seemed to shrink and tighten around him. He was hyper-aware of everyone's breathing, and the prickle of his own perspiration.

"Or not," he suggested. "I'm fine."

Yoly glared at his finger and her frown said: _really?_

Shawn tried another tack, co-opting the truth as a character witness. "You do know I'm probably going to squeal like a little pig - 'whee, whee, whee,' all the way home? What if they hear me? It'll be curtains for all of us."

Maya seemed oddly disappointed by his admission. Shawn wished he _could_ be stoical and match up to her rose-coloured image of his bravery, but he knew his own limits and it was only fair to warn the others. "Maybe if someone bites down on my big toe," he muttered. It was a private joke, and it didn't help at all. "Sorry. I'll just put my hand over my mtth, thnn." He clamped his palm over the bottom half of his face as he spoke, pressing hard against the rising urge to whimper like a sad puppy. "Hwws thss?"

The captain was already unpacking the first aid kit, spilling its contents in an untidy heap as she searched for what she needed. _Hurry up,_ Shawn urged her silently, _before I lose my nerve completely._ Which was another bad joke, because any courage he might have clung to had already hitched a ride on the beads of sweat and quit his body altogether, leaving him cold and shaking. He glanced around the room, trying not to look at the growing pile of bandages and antiseptic wipes. That was when he caught Cal's eye.

Since their escape, the professor had been silent, almost as though he had tuned out the world altogether and entered a dream-like state that Shawn rather envied. Now, however, he stared at the fake psychic, and the clarity of his gaze was unnerving. "Let your mind go somewhere else," he told Shawn, in a calm voice that was neither alien nor professor but a bridge between the two personalities. A resting place, perhaps? Some kind of psychological limbo? "Focus on the details of your memory."

"I know that trick," Shawn nodded. The gratitude he felt almost made him want to cry.

"I know you do," was Cal's cryptic reply, and he closed his eyes to show that their brief conversation was over.

Yoly was right in front of Shawn by now; a looming, doom-filled presence. Maya had moved to the side. He could hear her rapid, urgent breathing as she watched her mother.

 _Somewhere else,_ Shawn thought frantically. _Somewhere else._ The words became a mantra as he sifted through his memories. _Somewhere else - but where?_ Not Prospect Point this time. No need to taint that memory completely. Instead, he let his brain skip through the choices, like a ball bouncing over the numbers on a roulette wheel. _Tick, tick, tick..._ The wheel kept spinning... Wheels... little wheels... Juliet...

_And suddenly there he sat, in a big empty hall, watching her walk towards him. A pair of roller skates dangled from her hand, swinging at the end of their long white laces._

_Yellow. She looked beautiful in yellow; warm, like a sunny day. Her scent, as she reached him, was intoxicating. "Oh, hey Jules," he said to her, faking an air of astonishment. "What are you doing here?"_

_Full of adorable confusion, she challenged him in return. "I'm returning my equipment. What are_ you _doing here?"_

_"... feeling a little nostalgic..."_

_"...why are you wearing skates...?"_

_"...Oh yeah... Look at that..."_

_His ridiculous, tumbling words meant nothing at all. Only his eyes told the truth. He hoped that she could read them._

_"This will be a couples' skate. Couples only..."_

_The disembodied voice was mellow, in a wonderful, clichéd way. Shawn's heart was racing. He could barely breathe. Did she know it? Did she feel the same? 'A Space Age Love Song' played overhead - his own quirky request - and it was unbelievably perfect._

_"C'mon," he said to her quietly._

_"Shawn," she replied, and the way she said his name was everything._

_Round and round. The track was an infinite loop. He wished they really could go on for ever, skating side by side, fingers brushing together..._

_Pain shot through his hand at the gentle touch..._

"Mhh mm Gdd!" Shawn's fingernails dug into his cheek and his body went rigid for a moment. Snapping back to the present shocked him more than he cared to admit. He had been so deep within the memory this time that it felt completely real and he was devastated to leave it so abruptly.

"That's the worst bit over," Yoly reassured him, sounding a little more sympathetic now that the wretched deed was done and his finger was back in its rightful position. "I just need to tape these two together."

Shawn let his good hand drop. He was panting a little. "No sweat," he said - which was ironic, because he was drenched. "Didn't feel a thing." No one challenged him. Their sympathy was like a blanket, smothering him. Time to change the subject, as Yoly reached for the micropore. "So, what's our plan?"

"Do we need a new one?" Dennis said. "We're safe here. And help is on its way."

A fair point, and a practical one - but sitting still had never been Shawn's forte. He ground his teeth together, keeping his eyes (and his thoughts) averted from whatever it was that Yoly was doing to his hand. "Aren't we forgetting the crew? The ones Meek imprisoned, I mean. And all the scientists?" His glance strayed back to Cal, whose attitude remained passive, though a subtle tilt of his head suggested that he might be listening after all. "If we free them, couldn't we take back the ship? How many bad guys _are_ there, anyway? Would we outnumber them? Sorry, Captain Yoly... Too many questions, I know. My brain is storming for all it's worth right now. I can't help myself. Somebody, please interrupt me..."

"I agree with Shawn," said Maya, leaping at the chance to speak her mind again. "We need to free the others."

Yoly smoothed off the end of the tape and let Shawn's hand settle gently in his lap. Looking down at last, he stared at it in a disconnected fashion. The white tape crackled when he tried to move his fingers. In lieu of a splint, the captain had layered the micropore thickly to create a stiff shell of protection. Shawn was both grateful and disturbed. He really did look like a cartoon character now, with three fingers instead of four, even if one of those 'fingers' was bulky and ridiculous. As for the pain... Once again, he turned away.

"I'm surprised that wasn't the first thing you did," he admitted to Yoly.

"Oh, believe me, I wanted to. But you had been captured again - I saw you with Marcus, remember? What if something went wrong, and Meek decided to make you pay for my actions? He's a nasty piece of work."

Shawn studied his wrists, which were still red raw. "Believe _me,_ " he murmured. "I know."

"Well then." She flushed, as Bluto stared at her in surprise. "I owed you a debt. Now it's paid."

"In full," he agreed with a shy grin, recognising her need to veer away from sentiment and regain her authority.

"Let's do it, then. Come on!" Maya insisted eagerly.

Dennis raised his hand, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Before we do, I really need to know... What _is_ this discovery that's got Meek so excitable? I feel like I've been playing catch-up since this whole thing started," he added ruefully. "Please - I just want to make some sense of it."

Shawn knew exactly how he felt. "I second that," he said.

Yoly turned on him, eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you already know?"

He shook his head. "I'm a psychic, not a scientist. Which makes it hard to interpret what the spirits are trying to show me... I can sense it, but that doesn't mean I understand what we're dealing with. Not yet, anyway." He gave what he hoped was a winsome shrug. "An explanation would be peachy."

All eyes turned to Cal, but the man was asleep by now - or feigning it skilfully, Shawn decided.

"Oh, very well then," Yoly conceded, folding her arms. "Let me tell you a story..."


	26. Chapter 26

_**"You're gonna need a bigger boat."  
** _ _**(From: 'Jaws'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Then...**

The pale moon cowered behind the clouds and the peace of the docks was shattered as Commander Dunlap led the charge down the narrow wooden ramp, followed in double-quick time by her subordinates and the team from the SBPD. Juliet brought up the rear with poor Gus, who looked sick to his stomach. It was easy to understand why. No doubt he, too, felt thrown off balance; trapped in a bad dream with little control over what was about to happen. Jurisdiction could be such a damnable nuisance. Shawn was out there, on the ocean, just as Carlton had deduced. Thanks to the radio message that Shawn himself had engineered somehow, they knew exactly where to find him. A rescue mission had been mounted with remarkable haste; not only Dunlap's highly efficient crew but also a number of support vessels speeding to join them from neighbouring coastguard stations. Yet here were Shawn's own friends and family reduced to the status of passengers - assuming they were lucky enough to be granted _that_ high honour. Even the chief was forced to trot along at her sister's heels. Vick's negotiating skills were legendary, but the Copernicus was so far beyond three miles out to sea that all she had left to bargain with was a desperate plea for compassion.

 _Abandon hope,_ thought Juliet miserably, _all ye who wish to enter here..._ Dunlap recognised their plight - even sympathised (a little) - but the commander was a stickler for procedure and Juliet knew that every single member of the team was going to have to fight tooth and nail for their right to step on board.

Preparing herself mentally, she tuned out any distractions that might interfere with her concentration; the rhythmic _slap_ of the waves; the creaking of old wood; the shifting boats that lined the dock. The cool breeze on her burning cheeks. The distress of the man beside her. If she lost her focus now, she risked being left behind, and that wasn't an option. She knew; she _knew_ deep down in her heart that she, Juliet, of all people, needed to be there when they finally came face to face with Shawn.

In spite of her trepidation, she couldn't help admiring Dunlap's confidence as the commander reached the end of the quay and turned to confront them, guarding the way like a modern-day sphinx, arms folded and eyes bright. Her own crew surged onto the boat all around her, leaping the gap and preparing to cast off. Vick stepped forward too, and opened her mouth to speak.

"Don't," said Dunlap firmly. "This is the end of the line, Karen. You can trust me to get the job done."

"The 'job'?" Gus muttered under his breath. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"You're in charge now," Vick said to her sister, ducking her head imperceptibly as a mark of respect. Juliet could only guess how much the admission was costing her in terms of pride. "We just want to come along. Surely that's reasonable?"

"You might want to check your dictionary, little sister, if you think that 'reasonable' means the same as 'a liability'."

"Semantics? Really? That's what you're going with?" Vick's tone had developed a frosty layer - not a good sign - while Gus mumbled something incoherent about 'a thesaurus, not a dictionary'. Juliet began to feel a creeping sense of doom, which only intensified when Carlton stepped forward to intervene.

"Chief. If I may?" he offered politely.

"You may not," Vick hissed.

Undeterred, Carlton pressed on. "I just wanted to reassure the commander personally that I... I mean, _we_ would be an asset on this mission, not a nuisance. I'm a highly trained officer, ma'am..."

" _Stop_ calling me ma'am," snapped Dunlap. Vick gave a tiny snort of satisfaction.

"...and so is my colleague, Detective O'Hara. Bring us along and you won't regret it."

Dunlap eyed him shrewdly. "Is that so, Detective Lassiter? I've heard quite another story from my men. One involving... sea pirates. Ring any bells? I won't offend your delicate sensibilities by going into detail but I'm sure that Detective O'Hara, at least, knows exactly what I'm talking about..."

"That's a low blow," said Juliet fiercely. Meanwhile, Carlton flushed.

"It was far too stuffy in that cabin," he protested. "And I have a cast iron stomach, if you must know. I'm famed for it, actually. I just happened to come down with an unfortunate case of food poisoning that day. Bad chicken. Bad _timing_... Not what it looked like."

 _Or smelled like,_ Juliet sighed, but she kept the awful truth to herself.

Off to the side, Henry Spencer was quietly fuming. "You do know we're wasting precious time," he growled. "Just let us on board, Commander, and we can debate the whys and wherefores on the way. You know it's the right thing to do."

"I'm sorry," Dunlap said to Vick, "are your consultants actually _running_ the SBPD these days?"

"Feels like it, sometimes," Lassiter muttered. Juliet jammed her elbow into his ribs and he gave her a wounded look of deep betrayal.

"Maybe I'm not afraid to listen to other people's opinions now and then," the chief replied with dignity. "It's called teamwork, Barbara. You should try it sometime."

Henry threw up his hands in disgust. "Okay. Okay. I've had just about enough of this." He rounded on Gus, who looked nervous. "I have a boat. You coming, Guster?"

The threat was a clear one - and Dunlap was no fool. "Don't even think about following us," she warned him.

"Who said anything about 'following'?" Henry's grim smile was leagues away from looking innocent. "I fancy a little night fishing. It's great for relieving stress. You guys are welcome to join me." He glared at the commander. "Who knows what _sharks_ we might encounter along the way...?"

"Henry Spencer, I never thought I'd say this but I like the way you think," Lassiter admitted, full of undisguised admiration for his devious colleague.

Commander Dunlap scowled. At least she had the good grace to recognise when she was beaten, thought Juliet. No matter how loudly she protested... "Oh, for heaven's sake. What _is_ it about that psychic of yours that inspires such madness? If this is the kind of anarchy you have to put up with on a daily basis, Karen, I'm actually starting to marvel at your success rate." Stepping aside, she waved them on board with a sweeping gesture of defeat. "Go on. Before I change my mind and throw the whole lot of you in the brig for insubordination." 

"Wait - you really have a brig?" said Gus, as he inched past her. Dunlap's grin was wicked and he quailed before it, clutching his stomach unhappily. "Never mind. I don't suppose you have any Dramamine either. Seasickness patches? No? That's okay... I'm good..."

The prospect of sailing with yet another queasy passenger was not a pleasant one, but Juliet had to applaud the man's determination in the face of imminent gastric distress. Even so, and with an abundance of empathy for his plight, she resolved to keep the length of the boat between them. Déjà vu was a terrible thing sometimes.

Instead, as she leaned on the rail, gazing out across the water with a sense of relief (and gratitude to Henry), Juliet felt the wind lift those airy strands of her hair that had managed to escape their strict confinement, and allowed this simple moment of peace to centre her once again. They were on their way at last. Whatever danger Shawn was in, his friends were going to save him. They would make it in time.

They had to.


	27. Chapter 27

_**"What one does with the truth is more difficult than you think."  
(From: 'Wonder Woman'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

"It all began two years ago. August 2008." Yoly drew them in with her solemn manner. This was going to be a science-heavy tale, Shawn guessed, but he stifled a yawn with his good hand and settled down to listen. Closing his eyes, he tried to cheer himself up by pretending they were on a camping trip together, swapping spooky stories and eating s'mores - here, his mouth watered, right on cue - but _keeping_ his eyes shut was counter-productive. People spoke volumes with their body language and Shawn was a master interpreter. (He was also loath to risk the very real and present danger that he might fall asleep mid-story.)

"August. Two years. Got it," he said, more to keep himself awake than anything else.

Yoly glared at him. _Don't interrupt,_ said her stern expression. Shawn did his best to look penitent and subsided into a watchful silence, punctuated by the occasional cough. His throat was beginning to ache - another delightful symptom of the cold he had caught up on deck.

"We were anchored off the coast of Alaska, close to Point Barrow, and packed to the gills with environmental scientists who were studying global warming and its impact on the coast of North America. Professor Riley..." Unconsciously, Yoly smiled in the man's direction. "Calum. He was on board for a different reason, one that he chose not to share with the others. In fact, until we passed through the Bering Straits, he stayed in his cabin most of the time, poring over his notes or talking with Maya. He's known her since she was a baby. You get along with him really well, don't you, honey?"

Maya shrugged. "He's different. That's cool. And he does like to share his ideas - just not with the other scientists. He thinks they want to steal from him. Guess he's right about that, in a big way. Should we really be talking about this in front of him, Mom?"

"He's fast asleep. And these people are part of it now. They need to know the truth - not Calum's version of it, Maya; you know how it is with him." The captain's voice was firm but there was a tightness around her eyes that caught Shawn's attention and gave him cause to wonder. Would Yoly's version be any less subjective? People twisted the truth to protect themselves, every day. He knew that all too well - and slid away from the admission quickly. Yoly certainly seemed like a forthright person, and a brave one, but Shawn was painfully aware of his own propensity for hero worship, a mistaken sense of loyalty that always kicked in before he had a chance to engage his brain (or listen to his best friend). In short, he was far too eager to trust people when they impressed him. He couldn't help himself. Some deserved it. Some, alas, did not. Fighting back the urge to hang on the captain's every word, he resolved to watch her more closely - and keep his fingers crossed, because he really, really hoped that Yoly was the awesome woman he imagined her to be.

Meanwhile, Dennis was keen to get the story back on track. "What happened when you got to Point Barrow?"

Bluto looked at Shawn and grinned, mistaking his troubled expression for one of confusion. "Top of Alaska," he explained. Using his big hands, and simple words, he sketched an airy map of the coastline all the way from California to the Arctic Circle. Shawn had to admit, the lesson was helpful.

"Okay, so 'up'. Thanks, man."

Maya stared at him in surprise.

"Hey," Shawn whispered. "It's okay for you. You _live_ on a ship. Of course you know geography."

His awkward protestation brought a smile to Yoly's lips, but she pretended to be vexed at yet another interruption. " _Anyway_. That was when Calum and my engineer went out in the Sea Bug - our submersible. Handy for underwater exploration and retrieval."

Maya gave Shawn a sharp nudge with her elbow. "Like a mini submarine."

"You don't have to explain _everything_ to me." Shawn pulled a comical face. "I do know stuff, you know." Returning the nudge was juvenile but he did it anyway, twice for good measure. "What was Cal looking for?" He raised a finger to his head. "I'm sensing... not his flying saucer."

"Funny man. Of course not," Yoly agreed. "But you're closer than you think."

"I _am_?"

"He was looking for shooting stars," said Maya. "Sorry. That's another explanation. I'll be quiet now." Her smirk was a challenge, daring Shawn to ask for further details, but she had reckoned without Dennis Gogolack and his passion for all things space related.

"Summer 2008. Of course! The Nuvuk Shower. I remember the chatter online. The eye-witness accounts were pretty spectacular and we were all secretly hoping for a Zefram Cochrane type situation..."

"Dude. Speak English, please," Shawn urged his friend. This whole conversation was going exactly the way he had feared it would.

"First contact. Star Trek? Cochrane met the Vulcans when they landed in Montana..." Dennis shook his head. "Never mind. Turns out, every last meteor fell in the Arctic Ocean. And there _was_ no alien ship."

"Didn't I say that?" Shawn offered smugly, glancing around for support. Only Bluto nodded and he felt an unexpected surge of appreciation for the hairy oaf.

"Calum was a man possessed. With every fibre of his being, he believed that there was something special about these meteorites. He spent a whole month bringing them up to the surface, one by one." Yoly winced. "Now that I... understand his situation better, I can see how he might have been deluded into thinking..."

"That doesn't matter, and you know it," Maya broke in angrily. "He was right."

"He was right?" said a wide-eyed Dennis, and Shawn groaned inwardly.

"He was right," the captain confirmed with a sigh. "I don't know how he knew it. Maybe he just got lucky."

"What did he _find_?" If Dennis had actually been sitting on a seat, he would have been hovering on the edge of it by now. As it was, Shawn could see the muscles in his neck straining with his excitement.

"He claimed that he found a new element."

Dennis shook his head in disbelief. "No he didn't. That's impossible. No one has ever found a completely new element in a meteorite. Minerals, sure, but..." He paused to let her words sink in. "Are you certain?"

"That's what he told us."

Maya giggled. "He called it Wellsium, just for laughs. You know, until they come up with a proper, boring name."

"Right. Because it was found in water." Shawn tried to bluff his way back into the discussion, but Dennis shook his head.

"No, Shawn - because of H.G. Wells," he said with confidence, and Maya nodded, rather more impressed this time. "'The War of the Worlds'."

"Something alien _did_ fall to earth," the girl agreed.

"It just wasn't Cal," Shawn murmured regretfully. He stared at the sleeping professor, a lump in his throat. Here, then, was the core of the man's delusion. Here was the source of his fantasy. Discovering the truth should have been exciting. Why, then, did he feel so sick at heart? "I guess he was famous overnight, then? In the scientific world, I mean; not like _actually_ famous."

Maya glanced at her mother.

"Not at all," said Yoly. "No one else knew but the two of us. Calum liked his secrets but I'd never seen him this obsessed before. He shut himself away in one of our labs and lost himself entirely in his work, studying his samples and the element's potential. He filled notebook after notebook with his research but it wasn't enough to reassure him. 'Every bright discovery casts a shadow,' he told us, time and time again."

"That's kind of a downer," said Shawn.

"And yet, here we are."

"Okay. Good point. But how did Meek find out, if Cal was being so secretive?"

Yoly looked uncomfortable. "That was my fault, I'm afraid. Calum ran out of funds. He needed a backer with deep pockets and, God forgive me, I finally persuaded him to reach out. Seek help or give up - those were his options. He wrote a letter and sent it to anyone he thought could still be trusted. One day, he came to me, clutching a reply..."

"They asked him to go to Nevada." Maya crossed her arms. "Area 51. It's real, you know."

"I know," said both Dennis and Shawn in unison. Sheepishly, they smiled at each other.

"I couldn't tell you what happened there." Yoly sighed. "In hindsight, he should never have gone by himself. When he came back, the fear was ten times worse. We tried to break through his paranoia but he had already made up his mind, before he even stepped foot on the ship. Everything had to go, he said. The samples, and all his notebooks... he put them into a watertight chest. Only the rubble was left behind, and we pitched that into the ocean. It was Maya's idea to drop the chest overboard too, in the deepest spot that we could find. And so we did, right before Calum left us," Yoly declared - but Shawn was watching her again and this time he could _see_ the lie reflected in her eyes.

He raised a finger to his head once more. It pained him to do so - not physically, but emotionally.

"No," he said. "You didn't."

Yoly stared at him, aghast. "You're wrong."

"I'm not," he insisted, with infinite sorrow. "The spirits are sure of it. Yoly, please don't lie to me."

Everyone was staring at the captain by now. Maya's look of betrayal was the one that Shawn found hardest to bear. Guilt overwhelmed him - but the stakes were high, it seemed, and Yoly knew that too. She closed her eyes, avoiding her daughter's gaze.

"Very well. Your 'spirits' are right. I switched the boxes," she confessed in a low voice. "All that work... Calum was panicking; out of his mind with fear. I felt sure he'd regret it someday. I was trying to help him. No one else knew. It was my decision and mine alone. I didn't think..."

"No," said Maya, horrified. "You didn't, Mom."

" _Yolanta._ "

Cal had awakened at the worst of all possible moments - unless he really had been listening the whole time, as Shawn suspected. The professor scrambled to his feet, towering over the group, in spite of his diminutive stature. There was pain in his eyes, and blistering fury.

"How could you do that?" he demanded, and his face was paler than ever. "Is it true?"

"It is," Yoly whispered. Shawn was shocked to see her looking so defeated. "Calum, I... I'm sorry."

"Irrelevant. Our friendship..." He swallowed. "It's over. Where's the chest, Yolanta?"

Shawn felt no heady rush of triumph - just a cold, hard feeling of clarity. He _knew_. He knew as surely as if the impossible spirits themselves had materialised in front of him with a flashing neon sign. "It's here!" Yoly's guilty expression was all the confirmation he needed to continue. "That's why I've been sensing it so strongly, everywhere I turn. I'm sorry, Cal. I let you down. It was never in the water; I should have seen that. It's still on the _ship_."

"Please tell me he's wrong," said Calum brokenly.

Yoly gazed up at him. "No," she said. "He's absolutely right. I stashed it in the perfect place, or so I thought. It's under the bed in my cabin - _Meek's_ bed. He's been sleeping on top of it all this time."


	28. Chapter 28

_**"Hatter is my truest friend. If he's in need, I will help him."  
** _ _**(From: 'Alice Through the Looking Glass'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Then...**

_What am I doing here?_

Gus stared out to sea with grim determination. If he focussed really hard on the horizon, which was nice and steady, maybe his brain would convince his gut that everything was fine.

"Or maybe not," he sighed, as the coastguard vessel rose into the air and slammed back down again, riding the waves with all the grace and comfort of a Sherman tank. Little boats, he could handle on a pleasant day, when the water was like glass, but this was an actual nightmare come to life, and pinching himself only led to an arm full of bruises. Gus tightened his death-grip on the rail and tried not to curse (or throw up) in front of the others. "Shawn," he muttered to the ocean, wishing it could bear his words to their intended target. "You owe me big time for this. I mean really, really big, like Super Bowl huge, or tickets to Raw. If you're not in danger when we get there..."

He stopped himself, ashamed at the terrible thought. If Shawn wasn't in danger, then Gus would be thanking the good Lord; of course he would. Nausea was making him selfish but, now that he saw it, the monster retreated, preferring to lurk in the shadows and wait for a fresh opportunity.

"Hey," said Juliet, popping up beside him. He knew the level of her anxiety - how, then, could she possibly look so vibrant? "Are you surviving?" Her tone was wary and she kept a respectful distance. Gus thought he understood why.

"Oh yeah," he nodded, fooling no one with his too-wide smile. "Are you kidding? I'm great. You know I love this stuff. I live my life on the edge, Juliet. I'm a high-octane kind of guy..."

"You're a pharmaceutical rep," she reminded him solemnly. There was a glint of amusement in her eye.

"Exactly. I also work with Shawn," he countered.

"That is an excellent point." She folded her arms, and he marvelled at the fact that she could stay on her feet without holding on for dear life. "But Gus, you look ill. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Only if you have a secret supply of Dramamine squirrelled away in your pantsuit." It was an embarrassing request, given his occupation.

"I wish I had," she told him with regret.

"Then thank you, but no. How are _you_?" he said, turning the conversation round as quickly as he could. Any kind of diversion was welcome at this point.

And now it was Juliet's turn to lie, Gus thought to himself, as he watched the subtle movement of her features.

"I'm good."

"Uh-huh."

They stared at each other. Gus grinned sheepishly. "Not how you thought this day would end?"

"Not at all," she agreed.

"Get used to it." He lowered his voice as Lassiter beckoned. "You're with Shawn now. This has been the story of my life since I was five years old. Let me know if you need any tips for survival."

"Thank you, Gus," she said, and meant it. With a sympathetic look, she stepped away and left him alone to continue the struggle against his own gag reflex.

There was an undercurrent of excitement emanating from the coastguard crew - this was a thrilling adventure, after all - but the general vibe from the SBPD team was one of grim determination. Chief Vick and Henry were deep in discussion with Dunlap. Lassiter held his position on deck like an improbable Viking in a cheap grey suit and a borrowed vest. Juliet was deeply focussed. How did they manage it? If Shawn were here, Gus knew, he would fire off a random insult to make his friend laugh and distract him from his sickness. ("Gus! Don't be the blowfish that blows...") At the same time, no doubt, he would also be tormenting Lassie about his failed attempt to woo the commander - all the while trying to sneak a kiss from Juliet without being seen.

If Shawn were here...

"Excuse me. Mr. Guster?" said a hesitant voice.

He turned and gave a close approximation of a smile. "Mr. Guster is my father. Call me Gus. You're Ensign Manners, right?"

She nodded, and leaned in conspiratorially. "Tallulah," she whispered.

" _Tallulah?_ I mean... that's a lovely name. Just... lovely."

"I go by 'Tally' for short." Manners shrugged. "Mom had a thing about 'Bugsy Malone'."

"Then it could have been worse," Gus said gravely.

"I know, right? Blowsy. Or Fat Sam!" She snorted, and clapped a hand across her mouth, glancing back to check that Dunlap wasn't watching.

"You're not..." Gus shook his head. "Doesn't matter. What can I do for you, Ensign Tallulah? I mean, Miss Manners. I mean..."

"Are you always this eloquent?"

 _Ouch_. "I'm a little off my game just now," he admitted.

"No kidding." She held out her hand, palm upwards, fingers uncurled. Gus stared at the three little patches. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"You're an angel!" he whispered. "How did you know?"

"Let's just say we share a common problem." Pushing up her right sleeve, Manners showed him the line of seasickness patches that decorated her own skin. Gus counted five (that he could see) and marvelled at the total. "Don't tell Dunlap. It's her number one rule. We're all supposed to have cast-iron stomachs. The last guy who threw up... She transferred him to Arkansas."

"But Arkansas is land-locked."

"Exactly," Manners said in doom-filled tones.

Gus applied the patches to his neck and then hid them behind the puffy neckline of his life jacket. "Have you been on many missions like this one?"

"Not really. Commander Dunlap likes me to keep things ship-shape at the station, mostly. I did go out with her to apprehend a fishing trawler once. They were catching the wrong kind of fish..."

"That must have been thrilling."

"I thought it was, at the time." She sighed. "But you! A psychic detective, helping the cops. _That's_ the definition of thrilling, in my book. You're like a real live superhero."

Gus shook his head. It was tempting to lie and impress her, but he couldn't bring himself to do it - partly because of his guilt about Shawn, but mostly because he would never be able to carry it off with Lassie and the others so close at hand. "I'm not psychic. That's my partner - _business_ partner, Shawn. We do all the dangerous stuff together, though. I'm like the glue that holds the whole operation together. _Super_ glue, you might say." He grinned, and flicked his nose - a habit he just couldn't break, no matter how often Shawn teased him about it.

"So how come he's there on the ship and you're here? Sorry," Manners said, flushing. "That's none of my business."

How could Gus admit that she had pierced right through to the heart of his own self-condemnation? "Not at all. There were... unforeseen issues."

"Unforeseen? By a psychic?"

"By me," Gus said gloomily. "I should have known that things would go pear-shaped. Shawn has a knack for attracting trouble. And for solving crime," he added, catching sight of Manners' disappointed face. "It's a process, really." The lame old excuse did nothing to make him feel better, but Manners seemed relieved.

"We'll be there soon," she reassured him in turn. "Then you can rescue your partner. Your _business_ partner..."

Gus raised his eyebrows. It was impossible to miss the fact that she had used the same less-than-subtle correction. Considering the circumstances, this was going surprisingly well - and he hadn't even _mentioned_ Pluto yet.

Leaning over the rail, Manners pointed out to sea and he followed the line of her finger. "Look," she said. There were lights closing in on their position, far brighter than the tiny stardust sprinkles which were all that could be seen of Santa Barbara. One of those sprinkles was bound to be the Psych office, Gus thought sadly. What he wouldn't give...

"Here's our backup, right on time," said Dunlap at his shoulder, making his heart leap so high in his chest that it almost popped out of his throat.

Ensign Manners straightened her posture at once. "Commander."

"Ensign."

Gus managed to suppress the urge to salute. Luckily, the seasickness patches were starting to kick in as well, so the urge to throw up all over Dunlap was pretty minimal and he suppressed that too.

"Are we nearly there yet?" he asked politely.

Dunlap gave him a withering look. "Of course not."

"It'll take us several hours to... sorry, Commander." Manners ducked her head and backed away. Gus was sad to see her go. She had been a surprisingly pleasant companion.

 _Thank you,_ he mouthed, and she gave him a little wave.

"'Thank you' for what?" said Dunlap.

"Oh. Ah. Nothing, Commander Babs. I mean... Oh my gosh!" What was _wrong_ with him tonight? Words were tumbling out of him, and not in a good way. "Dunlap. Commander Dunlap." Shawn himself could not have made things worse or been much more of a babbling idiot. "What's that, Detective? You need me over there right away?" He edged in Lassie's direction, but Dunlap wasn't fooled.

"It baffles me," she said, "how you and Spencer manage to do what you do, when I see how you do it. You're knuckleheads, the pair of you."

"Is this supposed to be a pep talk?" Gus countered. "Because I'm really not feeling it. Sorry, Commander. It's hard to concentrate right now, when two of my friends are missing." His confidence grew as his nausea retreated.

Dunlap pursed her lips and nodded. "Fair point. Well then, let me be 'peppy'." She slapped him on the back and he almost fell over the rail in surprise. "Buck up, Guster. My track record speaks for itself. No cock-ups, no failures - one hundred percent success. I'm certainly not going to let a muppet like Spencer be the only stain on my perfect career. Feel better now?"

"Um... yes?" said Gus carefully.

Dunlap waited.

"Thank you very much," he added.

The commander gave a nod of satisfaction. "I'm well known for my motivational speeches."

"I can tell."

"One more thing, then, and I'll let you get back to your... contemplation. When we reach the Copernicus, and all hell breaks loose? Stay out of the way, Mr. Guster, or I guarantee that you'll regret it."

Crossing his fingers behind his back, Gus nodded. Dunlap scared him almost senseless - but he wasn't about to promise any such thing.


	29. Chapter 29

_**"Talk is overrated as a means of resolving disputes."  
** _ _**(From: 'Cocktail'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

Ever since her forced confession, Yoly could not bring herself to say a civil word to Shawn. He actually found himself longing for a fiery argument that would clear the air. Her coldness bothered him more than he let on, and certainly more than it should have done, given their short acquaintance and his own past history. Over the last five years, Shawn had blithely accused more people that he chose to count of doing some pretty disturbing things. Many of them were guilty – a score that _was_ worth keeping. The rest were innocent, give or take a misdemeanour, as he always managed to prove in the end (which seemed like a fair exchange for any stress or aggravation). But this? This wasn’t even a murder case. So why, oh why did _he_ feel like the bad guy all of a sudden?

 _Simple,_ said Gus, in his head. _You like her. She’s been nothing but good to you. And you’re hurt that she’s hurting, because you’re the one who hurt her…_

“I told the truth,” he mumbled. “She’s the one who lied.”

Fake Gus shrugged his imaginary shoulders and melted away, leaving Shawn feeling even more unsettled. In careless hands, the truth could hurt someone just as much as any falsehood. And yet… And yet… _I did the right thing,_ he decided, staring at the back of Yoly’s head as though his gaze could pierce her skull and let her know how dreadfully sorry he was.

Cal, meanwhile, had lapsed back into his alien persona, and that was a bad sign too. He trudged along behind an equally silent Maya. There was a closed expression on his face; the same distrustful look that he had worn when Shawn (and Noodle) pulled him from the water. 

Memory called to memory. For a single, breathless moment, Shawn was spirited back to the beach, and Juliet, and the cotton-candy sunrise. That was another world entirely; a magical dream, instead of this unrelenting nightmare. Shawn’s normally buoyant spirit began to deflate, like a punctured balloon. He coughed into his fist, and Yoly rounded on him.

“Quiet!” she snapped. “We’re passing the galley. Someone could hear you.”

That seemed a little unfair, but he managed to muffle the next cough successfully. Being caught would serve no worthwhile purpose and he certainly wasn’t in any kind of hurry to encounter Meek again.

The captain was currently leading the group along a narrow service passage that reminded Shawn (and Dennis, he had no doubt) of the Jefferies tubes in Star Trek. He had never been a victim of claustrophobia, but even he was finding the close confines of their journey a troubling experience, and he couldn’t wait for it to end.

“Where are you taking us?” Dennis whispered, squeezing past the others until he reached Shawn’s side. His query was directed at the captain and she answered _him_ with perfect civility, Shawn noted glumly.

“Storage locker number three.”

“Food storage?” Shawn’s ears perked up. It was hard to keep the yearning out of his tone. He was so very hungry. No wonder he couldn’t think straight. He hadn’t gone this long without eating since… well, since the last time he was kidnapped. _Sucks to be me right now,_ he sighed.

“Equipment,” Yoly answered, with a curtness that implied she was mentally adding the unspoken phrase ‘you idiot’ to her statement.

“Gotcha.” He nodded. “Here’s a thought, though. Ever heard the phrase ‘an army marches on its stomach’?”

Dennis raised a tentative hand. “You did say the galley was nearby. Ship’s kitchen,” he explained to Shawn, who frowned because he knew that already.

“No,” said Yoly.

“But I could have sworn you…”

“No.”

“But you did,” Shawn put in. “And I’m…”

“No!” the captain shouted, raising her voice in frustration like a teacher on a stressful outing with a bunch of five year olds.

They halted and stared at her. Shawn’s cheeks were bright pink and his heart was hammering in his chest. He had pushed her too far and he knew it; all for the sake of his own selfish need to stuff his face on a regular basis. “I’m sorry,” he admitted softly. “Can’t we… can’t we just be done with this? Yoly, I never meant…”

She allowed their eyes to meet. He held her gaze, prolonging the moment, trying to project the words that would not come.

“I know,” she whispered at last.

“You do? Then we’re…?”

“Yes. We’re good.”

Shawn was in such a raw state that the sense of relief he felt was almost overwhelming. He caught Yoly staring down the line at Cal, and knew what she was wishing. Maybe there was something he could do about that too, now that his luck had finally turned. Food for thought – which was better than no food at all (or so he tried to convince himself).

“Um – captain?” Bluto was at the back of the line, a strategic move on Yoly’s behalf. He waved his hand to claim her attention. “Pardon me, but how’s about we _don’t_ have a heart-to-heart out here in the open? No disrespect,” he added hastily.

‘Out in the open’ felt like a stretch, but the point Bluto made was a fair one. Yoly nodded. “You’re right, of course.” She raised a finger to her lips. “No more talking.”

“At all?” said Shawn.

“At all.” Yoly glared at him but there was no real anger in her eyes this time. “Think you can manage that, psychic?”

He bowed his head and pulled an invisible zipper across his mouth.

“Bet my original Han Solo blaster that you can’t last half an hour,” Dennis breathed in his ear, before backing away with a knowing smile. Shawn raised his eyebrows – and held his tongue.

 _Done… and done,_ he thought to himself.

Sometimes, being manipulated by your friends was totally worth it.

**-x0x-**

On and on they zig-zagged through the belly of the ship, like rats in a maze. Shawn tried to keep track of the route, in case they got separated, but he was finding it hard to tell his starboard from his port, not to mention his aft from his forward. _There’s a punchline in there somewhere,_ he giggled to himself, feeling slightly delirious.

Yoly reached another metal door. How many was that now? Fourteen? Placing her ear against it, she listened carefully. “I hear footsteps,” she whispered. “Walking up and down; not leaving. That’s a problem.”

“You mean they’re guarding the locker?” It was the first thing Maya had said to her mother in quite some time. Everyone stared at her but she persisted. “Why would they do that? What's the point?”

“They know we’re free. They’re trying to predict our next move. Maya, honey; I…” Yoly faltered and changed the subject. “Someone needs to handle this.”

Shawn raised his hand, but the captain shook her head. “ _Oh_ no. Not you. I’ve already seen you in action, remember? We need strength here. No offence.”

 _None taken._ Shawn tried to hide his relief with a nonchalant shrug.

“Guess it’s me, then,” Bluto said eagerly. “Good. I’m in the mood for crackin’ heads. Time to make a bad-guy omelette…”

“Don’t get carried away.” Yoly’s voice was stern. “You hear me, sailor? Quick and quiet.”

Bluto pulled a face. “No fun,” Shawn heard him mutter, as he pawed the handle and the door swung open. The big man stepped through and Yoly closed it behind him. Everyone held their breath and listened, even Cal.

The conversation was indistinct; two voices buzzing like flies. Shawn picked out a couple of words at random. ‘Meek’ was one, and ‘guests’ was another. ‘Shoot you’ was particularly disconcerting. Clearly, Bluto thought so too, because the next thing they heard was a ‘thwack’ and a ‘thud’ that could only mean one thing.

Bluto opened the door again, and he was grinning all over his hairy face. “Problem solved.”

“So I see.” Yoly stepped through and stared at the unconscious young man who lay at her feet. Shawn looked too, and winced at the sight. “Did you have to break his nose?”

“Thought he was goin’ to duck - but he didn’t. His fault, not mine.” Bluto held out a gun. “He was reachin’ for this. Was I wrong to defend myself?”

“Not at all,” said Maya, pushing past her mother. “He got what he deserved. We made it, then,” she added, unnecessarily. “What now, _captain_?”

Rather than rise to the bait, Yoly gave her daughter a ‘wait till I get you home’ look that was very familiar to Shawn. Then she reached down and grabbed the unconscious man by his armpits. “We’ll hide him in the passageway. That should keep him out of our hair for long enough.”

Bluto took the man’s legs, and together they lifted him over the threshold, laying him down in the shadows. Shawn wasn’t overly happy at the thought that they were imprisoning an injured man. The lines between right and wrong were slowly getting blurred, and that made him very uncomfortable.

“Trust no one,” said a sombre voice at his elbow. Turning, he saw that Cal was watching the scene with an equally troubled air.

“But the truth is out there,” Dennis reassured him, trying to reconnect with the man. “Have faith. We’re doing all this to help you, Cal.”

Maya pushed open the door that led to the storage locker. Everyone filed inside and Shawn, who was last, shut them in.

Awesome. Another tight space.

Grabbing Bluto’s arm, he lifted it and stared at the hairy guy’s watch. Thirty five minutes. A new Spencer record. He worked his jaw, which was aching from the effort of remaining closed for so long. “I gotta say,” he announced, relieved to hear the sound of his own voice again. “I’m not loving this movie so far. Too many passages. Not enough action. Tomatometer: 25%.”

“Everyone’s a critic.” Yoly shrugged. “I think you’ll like the next part.”

She stepped aside and gestured to the shelf behind her. Shawn nudged Dennis. “You owe me a blaster,” he said with pride.

“Never mind that,” said Dennis, whose eyes were bright. He took a nervous puff of his inhaler. “I see where this is going...”

Shawn followed his gaze. A metal container sat on the shelf. One word was stencilled on the side in bright red letters, to highlight the dangerous nature of its contents. “‘Flares’? Like in the 70s? We’re gonna knock ’em dead with our righteous fashion sense…? I’m kidding,” he added, when Dennis smacked him on the arm. “Single use or cartridges and guns?”

“Single use,” said Bluto. “Part of the kit for every lifeboat. These are the spares.”

“Oh!" Shawn raised a finger to his temple. "I get it now. And I take it all back. The spirits are very impressed, Captain Yoly. Two thumbs up! Explosive finales are always a crowd pleaser. We get the bad guys to look in the wrong direction while you steal Cal’s work right out from under them – literally! That’s a neat trick.”

Yoly flushed with pleasure at his praise. “Doesn’t hurt that we’ll also be lighting up the sky for your friends. If they’re coming.”

“Oh, they’re coming,” Shawn said heartily. The tightness in his chest was beginning to ease, and he twitched with excitement. “You’ve got let me do this. Please!” He rubbed his hands together – and winced at the pain it caused.

“No,” said Maya. “Let me.”

“Not a chance.” There was steel in Yoly’s voice. “It’s far too dangerous. You’d be right out in the open, and I can’t deal with that. I’m sorry. Dennis and Shawn will set off the flares, on the top deck. Cal and I will fetch the chest from my old cabin. You two…” She paused, and gripped her daughter’s hands. “I need you down at the hold where they’re keeping our friends. It’s time to set the others free. Take out the guard… and do it _gently_ ,” she warned Bluto, pulling Maya close instinctively. At first, the girl was rigid in her arms. But then she leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder.

“I should have a gun, right?” she whispered, with a tiny grin.

Yoly swatted her playfully. “Nice try. And no.”

Maya shrugged. “I had to give it a shot…”

**-x0x-**

Shawn stood in the open doorway and gazed out across the deck. It felt strange to see the sky again. A tiny thread of pink was weaving its way across the horizon. Slowly but surely, dawn was coming – but would Juliet come with it? Or was he looking out upon his very last day? Would it all end here, so far away from everything?

 _Too depressing,_ he decided. “Are you ready?”

Dennis gripped his end of the box with grim determination. “Short answer?”

Shawn nodded.

“No,” said his friend. “But let’s do it anyway.”

“Ha!” Shawn’s laugh forced its way through his aching throat. “Well said, buddy.”

Yoly and Cal had already left, after guiding them this far. It was now or never. Everyone was counting on them.

Time to light things up and get the party started.

Time to lure the monster from his den. 


	30. Chapter 30

_**"I think we should hope for the best and prepare for the worst."  
** _ _**(From 'X-Men: Apocalypse'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

Lassiter lived for moments like this. Who wouldn't be thrilled to stand on the deck of a speeding vessel, squaring their shoulders against the wind and steeling themselves for the mission ahead? Who wouldn't want to be a bona fide hero?

He caught sight of Guster lurking near the rail, and faltered. Well. Heroes came in all shapes and sizes. Not everyone could claim that 'Danger' was their middle name. Those two nitwits... They squealed at the drop of a hat, and yet he had actually seen them walk through _fire_ when lives were at stake. Did that make them brave or reckless? _Ask me again when I've finally figured it out,_ he sighed.

But Guster was right here with them, which had to count for something. And Spencer had volunteered to go with Cal, in order to try and protect him from that nut job, Meek.

The detective shook his head. "Sometimes I almost think I understand your son," he muttered in Henry's general direction - not loud enough to be heard, of course. This was a rescue boat, not a confessional. He wasn't trying to search his own soul. But he did believe in giving credit (grudgingly) where it was due. Most of the time. If he had to. "As idiots go, he's not a total loss."

"And I'm sure he appreciates you too," said Barbara Dunlap, right behind him.

Lassiter tried to hide the fact that she had managed to creep up on him. "You do know it's rude to interrupt another person's thoughts?"

She shrugged, moving round to face him with that annoying smirk of hers. "Not when that person is thinking out loud. On _my_ boat. Your thoughts belong to me now. Besides, you left that one wide open; admit it."

"I will not." He folded his arms. "Stop stealing my intellectual property."

"Stop handing it out, then." Eyebrows raised, she continued to smile at him. "Really, Detective, I didn't know you cared. Isn't Spencer the bane of your tidy little life?"

Lassiter felt an unexpected urge to defend his nemesis - on behalf of the SBPD, of course. "He closes cases."

Dunlap meditated on this with great deliberation. "He closes cases. I see. You're not _friends_ , then? Only, it seems to me..."

"Are we nearly there yet, Barbara?" Chief Vick said, swooping in to save him - or to avert disaster. He wasn't sure which was more embarrassing. And yet, even though he would never admit it to anyone, Lassiter was grateful to be rescued. If Dunlap was a bulldog, then he was her wretched bone. All she had to do was keep on chewing and he was bound to snap. It was inevitable.

"We're close," said Dunlap, dropping the smile and assuming a more professional manner. Lassiter wasn't fooled. Hidden or overt, their sibling rivalry was ever-present, colouring every exchange between them. 

He drew back slightly, removing himself from the melee. Even the bravest soul knew when to retreat. _'_ _He will win who knows when to fight and when not to fight,'_ he quoted silently. _Sun Tzu._ 'The Art of War' was a permanent fixture on his nightstand, together with the unpublished memoirs of his ancestor, Colonel Muscum Lassiter, and a selection of motivational books by Chuck Norris.

"And what happens when we reach the Copernicus?" said Vick. "Because I was thinking..."

"That, right there, is your problem, Karen." Dunlap pretended to sigh with exasperation. "Do we really have to hash this out again? _Ju-ris-diction_. Read my lips. You're on _my_ turf. From now on, any thinking is going to be done by me and my crew."

" _What_ turf, exactly? We're in the middle of the ocean."

"I'm sorry - is that the best you can do? I'd be laughing right now, if that joke was actually funny." The sisters were nose to nose. Commander Dunlap's gaze was fearsome. Admirable. Hot...

Lassiter turned away quickly and waited for the wind to cool his cheeks. Only when he had regained his composure did he feel safe enough to face them again. Dunlap raised her eyebrows again but said nothing. Chief Vick was looking more than a little rattled. This was a volatile situation. Was he now obliged to rescue his boss in return? He floundered for a moment, weighing up his options (which were limited), and then dove back into the fray.

"I've been brushing up on maritime law since my last mission with the coastguard," he ventured, seeking refuge in the practical subject of rules and regulations.

" _I_ wouldn't keep bringing that up, if I were you." Dunlap exchanged a knowing glance with Vick. Oh, great. Were they ganging up on _him_ now? Lassiter clenched his fists and kept going.

"I was intrigued to discover that, unlike us, you don't need probable cause," he continued hastily.

Dunlap nodded. "Title 14, United States Code 89. One of my personal favourites. The coastguard can board any vessel on their _turf_ , at any time, for any reason. Big disappointment for the criminals who try to use it as a get-out clause in court. They watch a couple of cop shows and think they're an expert in the law. Then the law turns around and bites them on the ass. It's fun to watch," she admitted. "I drop in from time to time. Cheaper than the movies, and much more entertaining. Though eating popcorn is frowned upon. Believe me, I've tried... But I digress." She favoured Lassiter with a more equable look. "What's your point, Detective?"

"It's more of a question, really. Meek is on the Copernicus, but may not be aware that Captain Bale sent out a distress call, or that we received it. Do we go in all guns blazing - one of _my_ personal favourites, under any normal circumstance - or do we play it cool and use deception? Take advantage of Title 14, USC 89." Two could play at the naming game. He tried out a half-grin and Vick responded in kind. Dunlap's expression was thoughtful.

"I'll give you props for that. It's a valid point. Are you suggesting we fake an inspection? Scope out the situation before we commit ourselves? That's... a surprising idea, coming from you."

"I do have my moments." At last, he was beginning to regain the upper hand and show the commander his true worth. "What do _you_ think, Chief?"

Vick had been watching this latest exchange with the horrified fascination of someone observing a car crash in slow motion. Nevertheless, her voice, when she answered him, was firm. "With Spencer and his friend on board, not to mention a significant number of civilian hostages, I believe that caution is our _only_ option."

Dunlap nodded. "I concur. Don't look so surprised," she told her sister. "I have my moments too. I'll tell the other boats to hang back, and put together an inspection team."

Lassiter raised his hand. "Request permission to be part of that team. O'Hara too." He glanced across at his partner, who was standing in the prow of the boat, looking out to sea, her shoulders rigid with anticipation.

"Request denied," said the commander abruptly.

"I don't accept that. It's a dangerous mission. We don't know how many targets there are on the ship."

"Calling them 'targets' isn't helping your case," Vick warned him.

"But you do agree with me." He could see it in her eyes, and Vick had no choice but to nod.

"I do."

"Impossible." Dunlap was beginning to sound frustrated. "Don't you understand? We _have_ to play this by the book. If Meek is as cunning as you say, I'm not willing to take any chances. I don't want _him_ to be the one that got away, and neither do you. Nor do I want to gamble with the lives of everyone on board. My team is well-trained. They know how to work together. The last thing they need is a land-lubber throwing the whole thing off balance and going off half-cocked in order to rescue his friend."

" _Colleague,_ " Lassiter grumbled.

Dunlap ignored him. "As for Detective O'Hara - not a chance. Any fool can tell that she..."

Vick quelled her sister with a look, much to Lassiter's surprise. At the same time, a shout came from the pilot. "Ship ahoy!"

They turned as one and stared at the horizon. If Lassiter squinted, he could just make out the dark form of the Copernicus against the skyline. The crisis was looming. He _had_ to wrangle his way onto that inspection team. No way was he going to be side-lined again.

A tiny arrow of light soared into the sky above the ship and blossomed into a dazzling starburst that lingered as a blood red after-image, even when the flare itself had faded away. Lassiter rubbed his eyes.

"Your man Spencer," Dunlap said gruffly. It wasn't a question, but Vick responded with certainty.

"No doubt. Which changes things, wouldn't you say? Assemble your team, Barbara - and put my two detectives on it, if you _please_. I'm willing to take the hit if this goes sideways. You have my word on that - and you know my word is good."

Lassiter held his breath. For a moment, Dunlap was silent. He could almost hear the cogs turning in her brain. At last, she nodded.

"You trust your people. I respect that. And you're right; this calls for a heightened response. But I never shirk my responsibilities." She held out her hand. "So we'll share any blame, if you don't mind."

"And that will be the first time we've shared anything in years," said the Chief, as she took her sister's hand and shook it vigorously.


	31. Chapter 31

_**"It was a great plan, except for the Human Element."  
** _ _**(From: 'The Ladykillers'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

Shawn tilted his head back and watched the beacon soar into the sky. As a life-long fan of living in the moment, he wished he could simply let go and embrace the childlike joy, but Grown Up Shawn was shaking with more than the cold, and kept sneaking a glance at the steps leading up to their lofty position. Meek was coming. That was the plan, which meant it was only a matter of time.

"Again," he said, as the first light faded away. Following a brief 'discussion', it had been agreed upon by both men (but mostly Dennis) that Shawn wouldn't touch the flares, in spite of the gloves and goggles they had also lifted from the storage locker. Burning down the ship that they were standing on was _not_ the plan, as Dennis pointed out. Stung by the implication, Shawn tried to defend himself but was forced to back down when his friend invoked some pretty damning evidence from their past together. Pudding duels in the canteen - Shawn still had the scar on his lip from that one. Who would have thought that chocolate mousse could be so slippery? Rooftop water balloons - Mr. Denning's toupée had never recovered and looked like a dead rat from that day forward. Jumping matchsticks - there would always be a scorch mark on the back wall of the locker room. The Ghostbuster Incident - crossing the streams turned out to be a _very_ bad idea. Every single one of Shawn's boyish escapades had ended in disaster and/or several weeks of being grounded by his father. De-foaming the gym had been fun, though... Shawn gave a wistful smile at the memory, even as Dennis removed the box of flares from his possession.

 _Pop_ \- and another one burst overhead, a thunderclap of sound and colour. "You think Jules can see that?" murmured Shawn.

"What, from Santa _Barbara?_ "

He shook his head. "No. From the coastguard boat." It was a vain hope, but he chose to stick with it. Dennis, to his credit, tried not to sound too doubtful when he replied this time.

"You'll be with her soon, buddy. I can't wait to hold Molly in my arms again. She must be worried sick."

The two men looked at each other. A lump formed in Shawn's throat. He swallowed it down.

"I know this isn't a shooting star," said Dennis, as he sent the third flare chasing after its predecessors. "But maybe it works the same way, if we want it badly enough." He closed his eyes, his lips moving silently. Shawn didn't have to be psychic to know what his friend was asking for, and he added a heartfelt wish of his own.

Footsteps sounded on the deck below. They were rapid and urgent.

"How many, would you say?" Dennis, blinking through his goggles, looked like a cartoon owl. He chewed at his lip in consternation. This was the part of the plan they had both glossed over, blinded by the dazzling temptation of the flares.

"More than one. A lot more." Was it too late to change his wish and ask for courage in the face of certain doom? Shawn curled his fingers around the handle of the gun that was jammed in the waistband of his jeans; the gun that Yoly had pressed upon him once he admitted he knew how to use it. And so he did, when faced with a target sheet, or the grille of a speeding truck... He drew it out and studied it with sick fascination. "Want to argue about this as well?"

"Oh no." Dennis waved his hands vigorously in denial. "Give me nunchucks or a lightsaber and I'm golden, but a _gun_? No way. I trust you, man..."

"Because a gun is so much safer than a box of flares?"

"Because I'd bet my life that your dad taught you how to handle one."

"Fair," muttered Shawn. "And true." Still, knowing how to shoot a gun with scary precision and aiming it directly at another human being were two very different things. The first was a matter of skill and he had it in spades. The second... well, that was a matter of conscience. Shawn desperately wanted to believe that he was a good man. But would a good man shoot somebody, given the right provocation? And if he wouldn't? What then?

_Guess I'm going to find out, one way or the other._

"There you are," said Meek, when he reached the top of the steps. He, too, had a gun and several burly companions. "I'll admit, I'm surprised by your tenacity." 

If he had known what that meant, Shawn might have been flattered, but long words were tricky sometimes and bluffing was quicker than trying to figure them out. "You shouldn't be. I'm chock-full of surprises, Jack. Sorry - got it wrong again. Your name is just so boring... _Eddie._ "

One of Meek's henchmen - or was that a hench _woman_? - sniggered and then thought better of it, ducking their head when their boss turned around with a petrifying glare that would have made Medusa jealous. Shawn had seen the original 'Clash of the Titans' a thousand times, which made him an expert on the subject (and on Harry Hamlin, who was an underrated hero - _just like me,_ he thought). Squaring his jaw and his shoulders like Perseus, he faced his foe with an air of bravado. "Took you long enough to find me." He waved his free hand at the box of flares. "We're having a party. Care to join us?"

Meek turned back and stared at Shawn intently, as though he could see right through his heroic façade. "Do you actually think you're achieving something here?"

"Everyone loves a good firework display," Shawn said brightly, removing his goggles and dropping them on the deck.

Meek took a single step forwards. His gun was unwavering, like his gaze. "Don't be ridiculous. Fireworks are a waste of time. All that money going up in smoke, and for what? A moment of gratification?"

"Wow. You must be a blast on the Fourth of July, Eddie - pun intended. Do your friends play 'rock, paper, scissors,' for the pleasure of your company? Wait. Do you _have_ any friends?" 

"Are you planning to use that gun or are you playing for time because it scares you?" Meek countered. "Wait. Do you _know_ how to use it?" One more step and he was close enough that Shawn could see the whites of his treacherous eyes. Dennis, meanwhile, was so flustered that he let off another flare by accident. It popped above them, bathing the scene in a false light that sent their shadows crawling across the deck. 

Shawn shifted his stance. Time to focus. He cradled the gun in both hands, clenching his jaw against the sudden rush of pain from his finger. Releasing the safety, he gazed down the barrel at Meek and his air was defiant.

"I see. You do. Bravo," said Meek sarcastically. "And if I aim at Dennis, here?"

"What? No!" cried Dennis, inching backwards.

Shawn stepped between them. What choice did he have? He was rigid with the effort of hiding his fear, and sweat was sliding down his back in rivers. "Your problem is with me. Stop threatening my friend, you coward," he demanded.

Meek gave an infuriating smile. "Make me," he suggested. "And I'll let you both go free."

The challenge was a master stroke. Shawn's bluff had been called, and he knew it. They were trapped in a standoff and Meek, that psycho, was daring him to break it. The longer he delayed, the weaker his position became. If he was going to shoot the wretched man, he had to do it now. He had to be Carlton Lassiter, cool and decisive - and sure of himself.

 _But I'm not,_ he thought with unexpected clarity. _I'm Shawn. And I have to do this my way._

Meek had seen right through him, just as he suspected.

It was a strange revelation. Shawn felt ashamed and yet, at the same time, unmistakeably relieved. Gus would have understood (though not his father, sadly). As for Dennis... that would very much depend upon what happened next. Meek had won this round, for certain - but that didn't mean he was going to win the game. Being a tender-hearted man was _not_ the same as being a pushover...

Shawn's finger twitched on the trigger. The kickback was strong but he held his ground. The bullet zipped over Meek's head, so close to ploughing a trough through the top of his skull that it made him duck instinctively. In the chaos his shot had created, Shawn grabbed Dennis by the arm and vaulted over the nearest rail, taking his friend with him. They hit the unforgiving deck below with far too much velocity. Shawn bore the brunt of it, being the first to land, but there was no time to check for bruises. Already, Meek and his cohorts were scrambling back down the steps towards them.

"Run," Shawn hissed, and Dennis obeyed without question.

Fear lent them speed but Meek was cunning, and soon they were surrounded by a sneaky pincer movement, cutting them off from all means of escape, aside from a long drop into the ocean.

Okay. _Now_ the game was over. Shawn set down his gun and kicked it away. "I'm sorry," he said to Dennis as they both raised their hands in defeat. "This is all my fault. I should have taken the shot when I had the chance."

Dennis shrugged. "No point killing the monster if you lose your soul in the process."

Then he _did_ understand. Shawn's chest swelled a little and he raised his chin. Meek and the others closed in. This was going to be bad, and he was afraid. But shooting a man in cold blood? That would have been so much worse. He would have changed irrevocably, pushed into acting against his nature.

"Guess I'm the winner," Shawn crooned to himself. Meek took hold of the scruff of his neck and slammed him into the nearest wall.

"Keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better," he ground out, sounding breathless and irritated.

Shawn's nose was bleeding into his mouth. He spat on Meek's shirt. The result was impressive. "Am I getting to you? Sorry, man."

Meek sucker-punched him in the gut. Fire blossomed in his belly and he fell to his knees. There was a click behind him, and a cold, hard object pressed against the back of his skull.

"Don't worry," said the monster. "I can fix that."

This was the end, then. Shawn closed his eyes, preparing to face it as bravely as he could, even though he was trembling from head to toe.

"Goodbye Juliet," he whispered to the weathered deck, and the thought of her face gave him comfort.

Then a miracle occurred.


	32. Chapter 32

_**"You know what I do for a living? I get paid to notice stuff. I get paid to know who's lying."  
** _ _**(From: 'Random Hearts'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

"Copernicus, this is the U.S. Coastguard. We are currently approaching your position. What is the nature of your emergency?"

Dunlap's tone was brusque and professional but Juliet, who was beginning to know her a little better, could spot the sarcasm lurking behind the innocuous question. So many flares - it _had_ to be Shawn, and now, she guessed, his captors would be panicking. What this meant for his immediate safety, she tried not to let herself imagine. His friends were close and they were going to rescue him. That was all that mattered. That was the key to being focussed. Feelings were her enemy at this point and she would have to lock them away completely, severing the connection between her heart and her brain. In an amazing feat of persuasion, Carlton and the chief had managed to secure her a place on the boarding party and she owed them for that. Letting them down - letting _Shawn_ down - was not an option.

The radio crackled and a female voice replied.

"U.S. Coastguard, this is the Copernicus. No emergency. Sorry for the confusion. One of our crew drank an entire bottle of vodka and set off the flares as a prank. I can assure you, he'll be disciplined when he's sober enough to appreciate it. Thank you for your prompt response."

"Oh, so that's how you're going to play it," Dunlap muttered to herself with relish. "Right into my hands. Outstanding." Squaring her shoulders, she opened the channel again. "Are you aware that setting off flares without just cause is a criminal offence? And don't even get me started on the issue of drinking at sea..."

One minute. Two. Juliet couldn't help smiling.

"Of course," lied the woman at last. What else could she say? Denying that knowledge would suggest incompetence and, ultimately, leave her pinned in exactly the same corner by Dunlap.

"Very well, then. Get ready to roll out the welcome wagon. My team will be boarding for a spot inspection, and to take your crewman into custody."

" _Custody?_ For a prank?"

"A dangerous prank." Dunlap was really hitting her stride by now. "What if another vessel needed our help and we were too busy responding to your fake emergency? This is the third such incident we've had in as many weeks and I intend to make an example of your man. Flares are not fireworks and the United States Coastguard vessel is not your personal bath toy, Copernicus. Let us on board or suffer the consequences. Dunlap out."

As the radio went silent, Dunlap turned to face the others and her eyes were gleaming.

"Always have the last word," she explained. "Leaves them on the wrong foot."

They had almost reached the Copernicus by now. Overhead, the sky was turning pink, like the blush of a lover - Juliet swallowed at the stray comparison and clenched her fists - but the research vessel dominated the horizon at this distance, making the coastguard boat seem small and ineffectual; David facing off against Goliath and shivering in his cold, dark shadow.

"What if they refuse?" said Karen to her sister. "Grappling hooks and cannons?" The detail was facetious but the question itself was extremely serious and, for once, Dunlap let the opportunity for a 'vigorous discussion' pass her by. Instead, she rubbed her hands together with deep satisfaction.

"They won't. They're trying to maintain an illusion. Clearly, they don't know that _we_ know the truth already." Her half-grin was infectious and Juliet found herself responding unintentionally. "Why would they choose to provoke a hostile incursion when they could bluff their way out of the situation? These guys are playing the long game. Can't you feel it? Works to our advantage."

"Pardon me," Gus said politely. He, too, was staring up at the overwhelming bulk of the Copernicus and there was consternation in his eyes. "I don't mean to be that guy who doesn't get the joke but... you were kidding about the grappling hooks, right, Chief? So, um... how _do_ we get on board?"

" _You_ don't," Carlton retorted at once. "I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Guster, but the ride stops here for you. We'll find Spencer and Gogolack; I promise. You can hold the fort till we return." The heady mix of metaphors in his speech was worthy of Shawn himself. "That goes for you too," he added, turning to Henry.

"I don't think so." Henry's growl was bear-like. He would do anything to protect his 'cub', Juliet knew. And she would have asked him along in a heartbeat, trusting him to have their backs, but she was not in charge of the mission and Dunlap was made of sterner stuff.

"Oh, but _I_ do. My neck is squarely on the chopping block already. I'm taking a risk just by letting these two tag along. I can't be adding an ageing desk-jockey to the mix, even if he _is_ a former cop. No offence," she added unexpectedly. Empathy (or a close facsimile thereof) was not something that Juliet would have expected from Dunlap, but people could be surprising - she knew that all too well, and so she nodded in agreement.

"We'll find him, Henry," she said in the most reassuring tone that she could muster.

Henry's answering look was intense, almost as though he could see right through to her soul. With a jolt, she was reminded of Shawn and the way that he stared at her sometimes. It was a connection between father and son that she had never experienced before, and she tried to bear up under Henry's scrutiny. At last, he pulled back, satisfied. "I know you will," he said, with just enough emphasis that she would understand his deeper meaning. It was a subtle display of solidarity and his discretion made her feel such gratitude that she had to turn away quickly before Carlton noticed and jumped to the right conclusion. She had never been good at hiding what she felt, and now was _not_ the time to be having _that_ discussion.

Meanwhile, the coastguard boat was nosing its way around the Copernicus, keeping well out of its wake. Dunlap's pilot appeared to be searching for something. As they rounded the prow on the starboard side, Juliet realised what it was when she saw a metal gangway stretching down the side of the ship at a precarious angle, guided by a couple of hardy crewmembers, who scrambled around, securing it into place.

Ensign Manners nudged her and held out a lurid jacket. "You need to put this on beneath your vest," she said. "Safety briefing in two minutes."

"What?" said Juliet nervously. Heights were not her favourite thing these days, and scaling a rickety stairway that hung above a heaving ocean was the stuff of nightmares. _Her_ nightmares, very soon, she suspected. "Why?"

"Why the jacket? In case you fall in. Means we have a better chance of seeing you. Why the briefing?" She shrugged. "Embarkation at sea has its dangers. Dunlap's very safety conscious." There was a note of pride in the young woman's voice and she glanced at her commander in a way that was oddly reassuring to Juliet, considering what lay ahead. "You couldn't be in better hands." Manners patted her on the shoulder. "But be quick. It's never a good idea to keep her waiting."

Carlton had already donned his jacket. Juliet struggled to catch up. He helped her back on with the life vest. She didn't really need his assistance and he knew it, but the action was a silent promise: _we're in this together._

She tried her very best to concentrate during Dunlap's safety briefing. Procedure had always been something that mattered to her. She understood the value of it, which was why she had earned such an exceptional score on her detective's exam. Rules were a comfort; a sturdy framework in a shaky world. Her faith in them was one of the reasons she and Carlton had meshed so well as partners. But _this_ \- trying to pay attention while the ship loomed over them - this was harder than she could possibly have imagined. The Copernicus wasn't some warehouse full of suspects and they couldn't just charge through the door, guns at the ready. This was unfamiliar territory and she was a guest. She had to be on her best behaviour - yet how could she do that when her heart was pounding and her legs felt like jelly? Dunlap was tossing out phrases like 'three points of contact' - what did that even mean? All too soon, and well before Juliet was ready, the lesson ended. All too soon, the gangway was in place.

"It's time," said Dunlap. "Follow me."

And up she went.

"After you," Carlton offered, stepping back so that Juliet could move in front of him. She wasn't fooled by his gentlemanly act. Either he, too, was terrified, or he was letting her go first so that he could keep an eye on her.

"Thanks," she muttered. Dunlap had already reached the top, in confident strides, and was beckoning to her. It was now or never. She clambered onto the bottom rung and grasped the handrails firmly. Three points of contact. _Oh,_ she thought with relief. _I get it._

Feeling like Indiana Jones on the rope bridge (and look how that played out), she made her way upwards one careful step at a time, adjusting her grip and her balance as she went along. "Don't look down," she muttered. _Never look down. You're in control. Just keep moving._ This was no clock tower. This was simply a metal staircase, and Shawn was at the top of it.

She reached the top and breathed a sigh of relief before turning to watch Carlton's progress. He was surprisingly agile, for such a gangly man, and made short work of the journey, though his expression was fixed in a grimace of deep concentration.

"Piece of cake," he whispered to Juliet, once he was standing beside her again.

The rest of Dunlap's team - Manners and a solemn-looking older man - climbed up to join them. "All present and correct," said Dunlap with satisfaction. Juliet felt a hint of pride that neither she nor Carlton had embarrassed themselves.

"Welcome aboard the Copernicus," said a voice behind them; the same voice that had spoken to Dunlap over the radio. They spun, as one, to meet their host, a burly woman with mousy hair and a masculine jaw. "I'm the first mate. My name is Ellen Gorman. And you are...?"

"Commander Dunlap. Where's the captain? I'm not used to dealing with subordinates."

Dunlap was a veritable master of the put-down. Juliet couldn't help but admire her style. With a few sharp words, she had managed to set Gorman on the defensive and take full control of the conversation.

"Indisposed, I'm afraid." Gorman tried to stand firm. Her stocky face was unreadable but her fingers were twitching ever so slightly, as though they were the release point for her anxiety.

"And _I'm_ afraid I don't care." Dunlap folded her arms. "Please inform her that we are on board and expect full access to her vessel. I'd also like to meet this drunken crewman of yours. And if you say 'indisposed' one more time..." She left the threat hanging on purpose.

Juliet scanned her surroundings, feeling a sense of doom. Shawn could be anywhere. How were they going to find him on this floating maze?

Several other members of the crew - or of Meek's team - were hovering nearby, with watchful eyes. Gorman edged closer and leaned in. 

"Follow me, please," she said quietly. "There's something I need to explain to you, in private."

"Explain it here," snapped Carlton.

Dunlap shot him a warning glance, and then nodded. "What he said."

"Very well. I wasn't straight with you earlier. There's no drunken crewman."

"Shocking," said Dunlap dryly.

Startled by the commander's lack of surprise, Gorman continued. "We set off the flares. Though we didn't expect such a quick reaction."

"I was in the neighbourhood."

"Indeed. Thing is... we've had some trouble. A hostage situation." Gorman studied them carefully, trying to read their faces as she continued to adjust her story. "A man named Meek came onto the Copernicus several weeks ago, with his gang, and took everyone captive... but I'm starting to think you knew that already. He's gone now. He left on the tender when he saw you coming. Took a few of the hostages with him as leverage. I couldn't tell you the truth until we met in person." She kept her voice low and her face impassive. "Some of his people are still loose on the ship. I think one of them was listening to our radio conversation. But we took a risk and set off all those flares because then you'd demand to come on board, whatever excuse I was forced to give. I _do_ know the rules, Commander."

"What hostages?" Juliet interrupted. She couldn't help herself. Her heart was sinking. Gorman's story was plausible enough, on the surface - but was it true? And if it was, did that mean Shawn was sailing away from them as they spoke, still a captive and still in danger? "From your crew?"

"I don't know. We're trying to work out who's missing - it's a mighty big ship, ma'am. Captain Bale hasn't been seen in the longest time, so it's possible she's with him. But there were two other strangers... they caused Meek a lot of trouble, I think. He brought them on board as his prisoners, only yesterday. And they're on the boat with him now."


	33. Chapter 33

_**"Get used to disappointment."  
** _ _**(From: 'The Princess Bride'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

Shawn was a mess. He was battered and bruised, with blood on his face, sore wrists and an ache in his gut that was fairly alarming. The temporary binding on his fingers had started to unravel - _just like me,_ he thought unhappily - and he was finding it harder than ever to ignore the relentless throbbing. His throat felt like sandpaper and his headache had returned with a vengeance. On top of all that, he was cold and tired and _starving_ hungry.

 _Priorities, Spencer,_ he sighed, and forced himself to look on the bright side instead. He wasn't tied up. He hadn't been tossed overboard, though he'd given the bad guys more than enough provocation. Best of all, no one had shot him - and so here he was, still alive, when he ought to be dead as a doornail.

(Hold on. Had he got that right? _Could_ a doornail be dead? And how would you know if it was?)

Never mind.

"Still alive," he insisted, almost as though he couldn't quite believe it. His voice sounded rough and his teeth were chattering, but saying the words out loud _did_ bring him comfort. "Looks like my pineapple smoothie is half-full."

Oh, great. And now he was thirsty as well.

Reaching up with his good hand, he explored his features gently, like a blind man. His fingers came away covered in gore, but his nose didn't seem to be broken. More good news. Using his sleeve, he tried to make himself look more presentable. Somehow, the blood seemed far less threatening when it was on his shirt and he could see it. He knew how pathetic he looked, and a tiny, prideful part of him was determined not to seem so weak in front of his enemy.

Channelling this new-found spirit, he managed to lever himself up onto one elbow, so that he could take stock of his surroundings. The first thing he saw was Meek, who stared back down at him with loathing.

"I should have shot you back there in your friend's ridiculous playroom. You're an albatross around my neck."

"I get that... a lot," Shawn ground out, with an effort. "The regret; not the albatross thing. That's pretty obscure. 'Ancient Mariner', right?"

Meek's eyes bulged in his chipmunk face. Wisely, Shawn decided not to confess that his source for that particular nugget of wisdom was a recent episode of 'Jeopardy' that he had watched with Juliet. Afterwards, she had shown him the poem. It was long and full of words, so he didn't bother to read the whole thing - but he was intrigued by the image of the bird as she explained it. And the realisation that Meek now saw him as a curse was extremely satisfying.

"You like being a smart-ass, don't you?" Meek grumbled. "I can't imagine why. It's a very unpleasant trait. I suppose it was you who radioed the coastguard? Why set off all those damnable flares if you knew they were coming anyway?"

Shawn gave a non-committal shrug, determined not to cause more trouble for Yoly. Besides, that moment on the deck, beneath the dawn-bright sky, when Marcus had run towards them, screaming about their imminent visitors... that had been utterly glorious. Never again would he sing childish songs about Lassie and Dunlap 'sitting in a tree'. The commander's timing was superb. She had saved his life, for real, in a classic coincidence that only Fate or Shawn's exhausted angel could have engineered. 

Shaking with relief, Shawn had cowered in silence at his enemy's feet. What lay in store for him now? Meek was already barking orders left and right, sending his people scurrying. One of them grabbed Dennis and made for the stern. In the end, only Meek remained. He clung to his weapon like Kate held onto Leo, and his knuckles were bone-white. "Come with me."

"Ahhh... I don't really want to."

"Did I say you had a _choice_?"

A nearby cabin was nondescript enough to qualify as a bolthole. With his arm around Shawn's neck, Meek had dragged him across the deck, putting pressure on his windpipe in a spiteful attempt to maintain some form of control, even as the tower of cards he had built began to flutter all around him. Once they were safely inside, he had closed the door and pulled down the blind. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to indulge in a moment of sheer, unadulterated temper, striking Shawn so hard with the butt of his gun that he knocked him out completely. 

Time rolled on. Immeasurable moments; lost sensations. A dark and dreamless void that held the pain at bay, for a little while at least.

Now Shawn was awake again, and feeling like Meek's personal punching bag. He made a vain attempt to marshal his thoughts and form a new plan of his own, but the world was still too fuzzy and his options, in this tiny cabin, were severely limited. Instead, he resorted to listening for footsteps, or familiar voices. Had Dunlap made her way on board? Were his friends really with her?

And how were they going to find him?

 _Same way they managed to reach you out here in the middle of nowhere,_ he scolded himself. _They're good at what they do. Even without a know-it-all 'psychic' to steer them in the right direction._

The acknowledgement was humbling - but now was not the time for humility. On the contrary, Shawn needed to boost his courage in a big way. _Power up,_ he thought giddily. _Boss battle, next level._

Meek was pacing back and forth in the tiny space. Like Shawn, he appeared to be listening intently. It was difficult to say who stiffened first when they overheard an urgent, whispered conversation right outside the cabin.

Shawn's heart began to thump in his chest. The voices _were_ familiar - and that was bad. So very, very bad.

"Let go! I can do this by myself. It belongs at the bottom of the ocean, and that's where it's going this time."

"I understand. I really do. _Please_ let me help you."

"No. I don't believe you. Go away, Yolanta."

Shawn started groaning loudly, trying to cover their argument, but it was far too late. Meek had a gleam in his eye that was almost insane, as he opened the door and pointed his gun at Cal and Captain Yoly. This should have been the perfect opportunity for Shawn to demonstrate his _wushu_ expertise or, at the very least, hop on Meek's back and disarm him by slamming his hand into the wall. In his head, it was a brilliant display, and so exciting that it almost took his breath away. In reality, it was all he could do to clamber to his feet and slump against that same wall for support.

"Get in here. Bring the box," Meek demanded, waving his gun for emphasis.

"You won't shoot." With only words available, Shawn tried to call his bluff. "The coastguard'll hear you."

"Maybe I'm willing to take that chance." Meek pulled a silencer out of his pocket and screwed it onto the end of the barrel. "Or maybe I'm a fan of forward planning."

"You planned for _this_?" Yoly edged into the cabin and tried not to gasp out loud when she saw the state of Shawn. _I'm so sorry,_ she mouthed, and he shook his head stiffly.

_Not your fault._

"I cover my bases." Meek closed the door behind his two new prisoners. "Mark of a skilled survivor."

"But did your plans include a psychic with an awesome head of hair? I'm unpredictable, Eddie, and that, right there, is your problem. Hey, Captain," Shawn added, hiding his fear with an overly-cheerful display of nonchalance. "Hello, Cal."

The professor's arms were wrapped around the watertight chest and his face was deathly pale. "I don't think... We can't... This isn't right," he mumbled. Shawn couldn't even begin to imagine what was going on inside his head. Personalities clashing. Worst case scenarios, coming to life before his very eyes.

 _And it's all because of me,_ he realised. In calling Yoly out, he had set off a chain of events that led to this very moment. He should have let the lie... well, _lie._ Whoever said the truth would set you free? "Doesn't matter. They were dead wrong anyway," he grumbled quietly.

Meek was studying them, one by one. "I'm surrounded by deception," he said at last, with a heartless smile that was chilling to see. He pointed his gun at Yoly. "You assured me you knew nothing about Professor Riley's work." The weapon moved on to Shawn. "And _you_ pretended to feel its presence, anywhere but here. Did you think I was fooled by your clumsy attempt? You're an arrogant fraud, 'psychic' man. As for _you_..." He frowned at Cal. "This crazy act of yours is getting tiresome. You took my money, and I demand a return on my investment. The element is mine."

Shawn raised his hand. "Psych Man."

"What?" Distracted, Meek glared at him.

"My alter-ego. Not 'Psychic' Man. Hear the difference, Eddie. One has a definite super hero ring to it. The other... well." He snorted in disdain. "It's clumsy. I know you get where I'm coming from."

"I'm sorry - you think you're a _hero_?"

"I've solved over seventy crimes," Shawn said with simple candour. "Seventy five and a half, including this one. I'm bringing you down, man. Can't you feel it? Give up, before it's too late. Let's just end this. No one has to die. Not for the sake of some boring old space dirt. What's that even about - I ask you? Seriously," he continued. "I'm asking you. Because I still don't get it."

"Energy is power."

"Sure. That's obvious. But _dirt?_ " Shawn shook his head slowly, determined to spin out the conversation for as long as possible. "Are you freaking kidding me? I mean... okay, I've seen Bill Nye the Science Guy use a potato to power a clock. And they come from the ground, so they're covered in mud..."

"Are you really this ignorant?" Meek demanded, narrowing his eyes.

"Think what you like." Shawn pushed himself away from the wall. "I got the better of _you_."

Forced beyond the failing limit of his self-control, Meek lunged towards his nemesis - but now it was Yoly's turn to intervene. She grabbed his arm and spun him round, then punched him squarely on the jaw before he had time to react. Staggering backwards, Meek clutched his face for a moment. Then he raised his gun and fired.

Yoly fell.

A hole opened up inside Shawn's heart, like a bottomless well, dark and full of despair. "What did you _do?_ "

"Ask yourself that question," Meek said grimly. There was an acrid tang in the air, the lingering scent of propellant. The captain lay in a silent heap. A red rose blossomed on her chest. Shawn scrubbed at his eyes. Not a rose. She was bleeding, and it was all _his_ fault, just as Meek had suggested.

"This is crazy," he moaned. "There was no need to shoot her."

Meek gave a shrug so careless, it was terrifying. "Open the box," he said, turning to Cal. "Or join the captain. It's an ugly carpet. One stain or two - what's the difference?"

Cal shook his head mutely. He hugged himself and rocked from side to side. "My secret," he mumbled, over and over again. "Not yours. My secret..."

"Fine," snapped Meek. " _You_ do it." And he beckoned to Shawn.

"Oh, right. Because bending down is really something I can... Okay, fine, I'm getting there! Give me a minute..." Out of the corner of his eye, he continued to stare at Yoly. Did he see her eyelids flutter? Was she breathing? He yearned to check on her, but there was an image in his head of three dead bodies lying side by side - Yoly, Cal and Shawn - and disobeying Meek right now was a sure-fire way to turn that vision into a reality.

Clutching his stomach, he lowered himself carefully and knelt in front of the metal container that was the source of all their troubles. There were several latches and he prised them open, feeling the rubber seal relax as he did so.

Cal whimpered. He sounded lost and alone, an alien trapped in a strange and heartless place, with no way home again. "I'm sorry, buddy," Shawn murmured. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Open it," Meek insisted. Was he actually twitching with anticipation?

Shawn held up a warning finger as though something new had occurred to him. "Ever see 'Raiders'? I'm just saying... This could be a really bad idea. What if your space dust has mutated into something dangerous? Those melting faces scared the Howdy Doody out of me - you know, when I was a kid," he bluffed. "Had to sleep with my light on for a month."

Meek ignored him. Crouching down, he lifted the lid. All three men stared at the contents... or rather, Meek and Cal did. Shawn screwed his eyes shut and waited for a beat or two. He couldn't help himself. Childhood terrors never really went away, even when you were old enough to recognise the animated clay for what it was. When nobody burst out screaming, and he finally plucked up the courage to take a look inside the chest that _wasn't_ an Ark, the underwhelming result was almost comical.

"Like I said," he told Meek. "Space dirt. And a load of old notebooks. That's what you were expecting, right?"

The test tubes, nestling in a block of foam padding, were filled with tiny grains of Nothing Much. Was this the precious Whatchamacallit? Shawn watched as Meek picked up one of the books and began to leaf through it urgently. Cal's face was wretched enough - but Meek was beginning to look even paler.

"Is this another deception?" he growled. "This chicken-scratch? It's meaningless." He snatched up a second book. Moments later, he threw it at Cal in disgust.

Taking full advantage of the unexpected twist, Shawn raised a finger to his temple. "Wait... the spirits are telling me this _isn't_ quite the breakthrough you were hoping for... So much for planning ahead." He lowered his voice as they both stared at Cal. "'A Beautiful Mind'. Watch the movie; I'm telling you. Things aren't always what they seem to be. But I guess you know that now. Sorry, Eddie. Got to be a disappointing day for you, right? All your evil scheming gone to waste. How does that feel, exactly?"

Meek turned the chest over, spilling its contents. Cal sank to his knees at once and started to sweep the notebooks into his arms, with feverish haste and a great deal of muttering.

Shawn pushed upwards and backed away. Something about the look on Meek's face told him that things were about to get ugly. He glanced down at Yoly. _No. Uglier..._

"You want a masterclass in disappointment?" Meek rose to his feet. "Very well. It's about time you listened to _me_ for a change." Levelling his gun at Shawn, he started to walk forwards slowly. "Picture this, psychic. You're trapped on a ship, with a man who hates you." Circling round, he opened the door and waved Shawn through. "Somehow, you manage to call for help. But when it arrives..." He grabbed Shawn's collar with his free hand and hauled him to the nearby rail. "When the nightmare is almost over..." Moving his hand to Shawn's head, he forced him to stare down at the greedy, seething waves. Then he leaned in close. "You fail," he whispered.

"No!" cried Shawn, as he felt Meek lift him. Flinging both arms around the rail, he wove his fingers together, ignoring the excruciating pain, and then went boneless in an attempt to weigh himself down. Surely his signature move would be enough to save him? Surely this wasn't the end after all?

Meek gave a wild laugh.

"You _fail,_ " he repeated, breaking Shawn's grip and heaving him over the edge, with an inhuman strength born of madness and ice-cold fury.


	34. Chapter 34

_**"All fathers care for their sons."  
** _ _**(From: 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**1989**

"What do you do if you fall in the ocean?"

Shawn looked at the waves. Then he looked at his father. His fingers tightened their grip on the fishing rod. "Should I be worried?"

"What? No! Shawn, I'm not going to throw you overboard." Henry was horrified. "Why would you even think that?"

"Oh... I don't know." The boy shrugged, but his eyes were shifty.

"Look, it's a hypothetical question, okay?"

"Okay. I get it. That makes perfect sense. Thanks, Dad. Um... _why_ is it high and pathetic?"

Sometimes, with Shawn, it was hard not to laugh. " _Hypothetical._ Kind of like 'imaginary'."

"Oh!" His son's face brightened and Henry relaxed. Now they were getting somewhere. "That's easy then. I'd tread water for as long as I could and watch the flashbacks from my past."

" _Excuse_ me?"

"That's what Magnum P.I. does," Shawn explained patiently.

"Wait - Tom Selleck is your go-to guy in this life or death scenario? The man wears some pretty great shirts, I'll admit, but he's an actor, not a real detective."

"Way to burst _that_ bubble, Dad. Besides, you said 'imaginary'."

Already, Henry could feel control of the lesson slipping away from him. No wonder Shawn's teachers always looked haggard by the end of the year, no matter how fresh-faced they were in the fall. There were difficult kids - and then there was Shawn Spencer.

Was it possible to be _too_ clever?

 _Start again,_ he sighed. "Get your head out of the idiot box for once, Shawn. This is important. Suppose you're fighting the bad guys and they throw you off a boat. It could happen," he said grimly. "They could be sorely tempted..."

Obediently, Shawn considered for a moment. "Am I wearing water wings?"

" _Shawn!_ "

"Oops - I meant a life jacket." The boy grinned, and patted the one he was wearing. "But isn't that just like fancy water wings for sailors?"

"Certainly not. A life jacket could very well save your... um, _life_ one day. And no," said Henry, with relish. "You're not." It was petty, he knew, but how else was Shawn going to learn if his dad didn't point out that the world could be uncompromising? If Henry didn't try to predict the unpredictable so that his precious kid would never feel the doubt and apprehension _he_ had experienced? (Yes, he was honest enough to admit that, in the privacy of his own mind.)

Shawn reeled in his empty line, then turned and faced his father with exaggerated resignation. "Okay, Dad. What _should_ I do...?"

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

It was Henry who saw his son fall from the ship.

In a fine twist of fate, the very protocol that kept him from boarding the Copernicus with Dunlap and the others now gave him the best - no, the _only_ chance to save Shawn's life.

Ever since the team had left the precinct yesterday evening, Henry himself had become the tag-along that every cop dreaded; the family member who gets in the way and makes everyone's job harder. That didn't mean he would rather have stayed behind. The fire inside him was burning brightly, stoked by a fear that had dogged him ever since the Motorbike Incident, when Shawn was run off the road by a suspect in one of his early investigations. The boy had no impulse control. He was all about the moment. One day, he and Gus would run away from danger, screaming like a pair of little girls. The next, he would run towards it, facing down an armed man (or two) with only his wits to protect him, prompted by an overwhelming urge to do the right thing. That particular instinct, Henry _did_ understand, no matter how much it alarmed him. And though he would never tell Shawn (who seemed to delight in self-congratulation), he was proud of his son's kind heart and secret store of courage.

He was standing apart from the others, resisting the temptation to sneak up the gangway, when a sudden, frantic scream caught his attention. Dazzled by the rising sun, he squinted upwards, just as a body flipped over the rail, at the opposite end of the ship, and dropped like a stone down a well. For one frozen moment, Henry couldn't quite register what his eyes were seeing. Yet the scream and the button-down shirt, and that rumpled head of hair were so familiar... His own heart missed a beat and he clutched at his chest in a panic. _Not now..._

"Man overboard!" he shouted. His voice was hoarse - but the others had heard the scream as well, and already their heads were turning.

"Shawn!" cried Gus in horror. "No!"

Shawn spun in mid-air, flailing madly until he managed to achieve a proper diving form - feet first, to lessen the impact on the rest of his body. Just before he hit the water, he clapped both hands across his nose and mouth. Then he slipped through the waves, disappearing so quickly that it was hard to believe they had seen him at all.

 _Point to the spot where he vanished, you idiot,_ Henry thought, ashamed of himself for hesitating. Every second was a lifetime when your son was drowning right before your eyes. And what was the point of teaching Shawn how to survive if good old Dad forgot the basic instructions in a crisis? He stretched out his arm and held it there, using his index finger to maintain a line of sight. Karen leaned out beside him. Her presence was a comfort, but Henry didn't need reassurance - he needed action.

"Point with me," he told her.

Both vessels had cut their engines at the point of meeting, which left them at the mercy of the elements, rising and falling together with every swell, while dark shadows danced on the tips of the waves, looking like nothing so much as the head of a floundering man... now here, now there... now gone again.

"Is it Shawn?" the chief asked urgently. "Henry. What did you see?"

He took hold of her arm and lifted it until it was level with his own. "Just keep pointing. You're the spotter now. Don't move a muscle, Karen. And yes, of course it's Shawn. Who else do you know that would get themselves thrown off a... Never mind." Dropping his hand, he stepped away and sent his gaze roving around the boat until he found what he was looking for - a rescue sling with a rope attached, neatly stowed away nearby. God bless Dunlap and her rigorous attention to detail. Henry grabbed the sling and passed the bundle of rope to Gus, who was hovering anxiously at his shoulder. "Don't let go. When I tug on the line three times, pull us in."

"Who, me?" said Gus. His eyes were wide, but Henry knew the young man well enough to trust that he would never let Shawn down. This was personal for him too, and Henry was counting on that. The bond between Gus and his best friend was unbreakable. Hopefully, his grip on the rope would be the same.

"But sir!" Dunlap's pilot was frantic. Behind him, the remaining two members of Dunlap's team were bustling about, making preparations of their own. "Wait a minute. You can't. Procedure states..."

"Procedure be damned. That's my son out there. Nobody's stopping me this time," Henry growled. Climbing over the rail before they could reach him, he let go and sank into the water, sling and all. The cold was unnerving, but he turned around and struck out boldly, counting on the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins to get him most (if not all) of the way. He knew he was risking his life - but if Shawn were to die here and now, that life would be meaningless; an empty, failed existence, haunted by guilt and memories.

"I'm not g-going to give you the s-satisfaction of looking down and seeing how much worse m-my life is without you, Sh-Shawn," he grumbled, spitting out salt water with every breath.

In the long shadow of the Copernicus, he squinted through the waves, checking back over his shoulder every now and then to see if he was still in line with Karen's pointing finger. Had Shawn resurfaced by now? "I h-hope to G-God you have," spluttered Henry. The thought of diving deep beneath the surface filled him with alarm. He had always considered himself to be a first rate swimmer - but he was out of his depth in more than a practical way right now. Fighting the swell of the waves took a monumental effort. Already his arms were tiring, and he was only halfway there.

Then he heard it. A feeble cry that spurred him on. It wasn't a word, exactly, but the meaning was clear. Shawn was calling for help. He was still alive. "Here!" Henry shouted, choking as another wave attacked him. "Shawn, I'm here. I'm c-coming to get you. Remember the Dead Man..." He spluttered again. "Dead Man's Float. Like I taught you."

"Dad?" The voice was thin and full of disbelief. "Dad? Is that you? I'm not dead - I'm right here..."

Henry could see Shawn's weary arm lifting above the waves, and he struck out towards it, confident of the direction now, and filled with a fresh sense of vigour. He knew that when the fall came, he would pay, but that didn't matter. "D-Dead Man's Float," he shouted again. "On your front. Save your energy. Do it!"

"I'm there... already." So tired. Shawn sounded so tired, and Henry redoubled his effort. The coastguard boat was far behind him now. His whole world was the water and the struggle, and the hope that he was close.

Even though Henry had told Shawn to do it, when he finally reached his son and saw him floating face down in the water, his heart lurched again with a terrible premonition. Laying his hand on Shawn's arm, he gasped with relief as his son responded. Shawn lifted his pale face and turned it to the side so he could breathe in a gulp of air.

"Just like you... taught me," he whispered. "Hey, Dad..." He was searching for a smart remark, Henry could tell, but the effort was just too much.

With aching arms, Shawn's father wrapped the sling around him, then guided him into a curled up position with his knees against his chest, and grabbed his waist from behind, underneath the yellow padding. Finally, he tugged three times on the rope and waited for Gus and the others to pull them both to safety.

"Guess you know... how the fish feels... now," Shawn wheezed, as they began to move towards the distant boat. Was he shivering or laughing? "That'll... teach you..."

"D-doubtful," his father replied.


	35. Chapter 35

_**"I knew what the cold was... It was death. Then the cold faded and then I felt warmth. It was the warmth of you."  
** _ _**(From: 'The Astronaut's Wife'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

In the whole of his life, Shawn had never been quite so relieved to feel his father's strong arms wrapped around him.

The moment of falling had almost stopped his heart, right there in mid-air. But he wasn't Henry Spencer's son for nothing. All those lessons, drummed into him day after day when he was a child... they had driven him mad, yet he couldn't ignore the sense behind them, or forget the knowledge, just as his father had intended. Then there was Henry's stubborn streak, inherited and twisted by his son into more of a single-minded recklessness; a flat refusal to yield in the face of overwhelming odds. Arrogant stupidity, Shawn sometimes called it, on the rare occasions when he was plagued by self-doubt. Pig-headedness was the colourful phrase that Gus used. "Shawn, you'd argue with the devil if he was dragging you straight to hell."

"Yes, and I'd win," Shawn agreed. "You know I don't like to be told what to do."

And yet.

And yet it was Henry's lesson that taught him how to fall, and how to slip between the waves, protecting himself from the shock of the freezing water by covering his nose and mouth so that he didn't inhale on impact and flood his lungs.

It was Henry who taught him the best way to float - the Dead Man, an ominous name for a hopeful strategy. Lying on his front seemed counter-intuitive but Shawn chose to believe in his father's wisdom, and rolled over like an obedient puppy.

It was Henry who taught him that cold water could have an alarming effect on a person's mental state. Which was why, when he heard the distant voice and saw a bobbing head, Shawn felt certain that he was hallucinating.

He had sunk to the depths and risen with a struggle. Every breath of air was a victory but Shawn was still afraid. If his mind was playing tricks on him... If he was all alone... If the current swept him away from the ship altogether... What then? Magnum had lasted for hours, treading water - but Magnum (as Henry had reminded eleven year old Shawn with brutal honesty) was only a fictional character.

Clinging to all that remained of his optimism, Shawn cried out to the bobbing illusion. When it replied, sounding just like his father, the hope that he felt made him tingle all over - or was that the creeping cold? _No,_ he thought. _Don't go there..._

_Dad? Is that you? I'm not dead - I'm right here..._

"So tired," he murmured, through the water that bubbled around his lips.

As Henry reached his side and gripped his arm, like the wonderful flesh and blood man that he was, Shawn tried to be strong but inside he was overcome by such a powerful sense of relief that he almost cried. The Spencer men were not accustomed to sharing their feelings and so he slipped the mask back on as quickly as he could, all the while half-suspecting that Henry had seen right through him and knew exactly what it was that Shawn felt unable to say.

With the sling wrapped around him, and Henry behind him, Shawn surrendered all control at last and let himself be pulled along through the water like a marlin on a line. Maybe that was a foolish mistake, but he didn't care anymore. It was pleasant at first; almost funny, in fact - but the adrenaline that had kept him going for so long was finally leaving him and, as it did so, Shawn began to shiver in earnest. Henry's grip was iron. It squeezed the air out of his lungs, but there was too much water surging all around him and he was afraid to breathe in. With an effort, he clamped his hand back over his mouth and held it there, terrified.

"Breathe, kid," his father said, into his ear.

"C-can't," he burst out, and back went the hand.

Henry shifted his grip without loosening it. "Better?"

Shawn tried to nod. His head felt so much heavier than usual and his neck was rigid.

"Close your eyes." There was a tremor behind the familiar words, and Shawn, with a jolt, understood what his father had risked to save him.

"N-no hats, Dad..."

"No hats," Henry agreed. "No _room_. Damn, it's cold. Shawn, c-concentrate. Pick something..."

His first thought was Juliet, as always. But Shawn shook his head, dislodging the memory of her perfect smile, and the comical faces she pulled whenever she thought no one was paying attention. Henry - his father - was the one who held him right now, and that grip was so powerful, it grounded him in a way he had never thought possible. How could he think about anything else?

Once more, he lifted his hand away from his mouth.

"You c-came," he said.

"They couldn't stop me."

It was easy to imagine Henry's rueful grin. Shawn smiled as well, and took in a great gulp of air, spitting out the water that came with it. Salty, but not like potato chips. The after-taste was horrible. "I b-bet Lassie tried. Where is he?"

"On board the ship."

"And... J-Jules...?" He was almost afraid to ask the question.

"Yes, Shawn," said his father. "She's here too."

The tension that he hadn't even known was there began to melt away. _She's here too,_ he repeated - aloud, or in his head? He couldn't quite be sure, but the thought was a peaceful on. He drifted for a while, forgetting his surroundings. It was a shock when he felt several new pairs of hands upon him. Shuddering out of his reverie, he found himself staring up into the face of his best friend, and his eyes grew wide.

"'M dreaming, right?" he said solemnly.

Gus gave him a wild look, but when he replied, his tone was deceptively light. "What did I tell you, Shawn? No emergencies."

"Sorry, b-buddy," Shawn mumbled. "I couldn't call 911. I lost my ph-phone..."

**-x0x-**

"Mr. Spencer."

He was wrapped up in blankets and shiny foil, like a breakfast burrito. His wet clothes had gone, which was mildly disconcerting. His thoughts were blurry and his limbs were shaking uncontrollably.

"Mr. Spencer. _Shawn_."

"Oh, hey, Chief," he said, opening his eyes. The world around him was indistinct. "You look f-fuzzy."

Chief Vick's sigh was remarkably expressive. "It's been a long night," she confessed.

"No kidding," he said lightly, and turned away, blinking to try and restore his vision.

"How are you feeling?"

 _Dumb question,_ Shawn thought, but he appreciated the ritual nonetheless, and the kindness that hid behind it. "Popsicle," he mumbled.

Vick snorted. "Yes," she admitted, "that _is_ what you remind me of. Both of you."

 _That_ made him sit up - or, at least, he tried to. "Dad okay?"

"Oh yes, he's fine... for an obstinate fool."

"D-don't mean that."

"No," she said, with a rush of warmth. "I don't." Then her voice softened. "I'm glad you're safe. The pair of you," she whispered.

 _Me too,_ Shawn replied in his head, and once again he drifted.

**-x0x-**

When he came back to himself for the second time, Gus was sitting beside him, gnawing on a power bar.

Shawn began to salivate. With a rush, he remembered how hungry he was. "Got any more of those?"

"What? Oh!" Gus almost dropped the bar, trying not to look guilty. "You know me, Shawn. I stress-eat when I'm nervous."

"You must be... nervous a _lot_ ," Shawn replied with a faint chuckle. "Gimme..."

Working one hand free took longer than he had expected but at least the constant shivering had subsided. Score a point for the magic silver blanket. _Maybe we ought to get one for the Psych office. They're pretty snug,_ Shawn thought happily.

Meanwhile, Gus was staring at the state of his finger. The layers of micropore had washed away and it was all too easy to see the damage. "Shawn..."

"Not now. Just... give me the power bar." He snatched it from his friend and crammed it into his mouth. When he tried to swallow, however, it congealed into an unpleasant lump and steadfastly refused to go down any further. Shawn retched in dismay, coughing it up like a cat with a hairball and dropping it onto the deck, where it lay between them. Gus tried not to look at it. His lips were pursed. "Or not," Shawn muttered, red in the face. "Maybe a drink would be better?"

Gus scurried away and came back with a squishy foil packet of something wet and sweet. Shawn sucked at it greedily. When it was all gone, he lay back again, feeling much better. "So, how was _your_ day?" he ventured.

"Oh," said Gus, "you know. Fun at the office. Some pretty good quiches. Then I found out my friends were missing, so I gave my speech away to the worst of all possible candidates. And _then_..." He lowered his voice. "I had to share a tiny boat with Lassie and the Dunlap sisters..."

"Sounds awful." Shawn raised his eyebrows. "Aside from the quiches, of course."

Gus stared at him silently, burdened by a heavy thought that dragged his shoulders down. "I'm sorry," he mumbled at last.

"So you should be. Um... why?" said Shawn, feeling confused.

"I left you with Cal. And I told you not to call me. If I hadn't, maybe you and Dennis..." Gus faltered. Then he looked up at the ship, which was towering over them. "Where _is_ Dennis, by the way? And why did Meek bring you here? Shawn, what on earth is going on?"

"Buddy," Shawn sighed. "It's a long story. Fetch the chief, 'cos I don't want to tell it twice. And then make yourself comfortable..."


	36. Chapter 36

_**"I stand up for sense and justice."  
** _ _**(From: 'Sleepy Hollow'.)** _

**-x0x-**

**Now...**

Gorman hadn't lied about the tender. The little boat had definitely gone. But who was on it and where were they heading? Lassiter stared at the empty space where it would normally be secured, and frowned so hard that he almost gave himself a headache. The atmosphere on board the ship was tense and heavy with half-truths - the worst kind of lie to unravel. And Gorman _was_ a liar. Of that, the detective had no doubt.

Nearby, Dunlap was on her radio, ordering one of the distant support vessels to break off from the group and embark upon a search. The other three boats were already heading towards the Copernicus. Lassiter could see them from his lofty position here at the stern; little white trails behind little red blobs that mean more guns and bodies were coming to join them. Time to gather the troops, he thought with relief. Time for _action_. This softly-softly approach had been his own idea (much to everyone's surprise, which he found rather amusing), and it suited the mission at hand, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Through the neon coat, he felt the reassuring bulge of his sidearm, sitting right next to his badge for easier access - and comfort, of course. Life jackets and shoulder holsters were _not_ designed to be compatible (an oversight he would be taking up with the US Coastguard in the very near future). And he certainly didn't want to be struggling to free his weapon when a quick draw meant the difference between life and death.

"How long ago did they leave?" said O'Hara to Gorman. Lassiter couldn't decide if his partner was clinging to the hope that Spencer was still on the ship, or wishing she was part of the team chasing after the missing tender and its passengers. Yet again, he found himself wondering just what it was about Spencer that caused his friends to act in such a devoted manner. (Surely it wasn't his aftershave, or that thick head of hair, as the man liked to claim.) Even _he_ , Carlton Lassiter, stoic and sensible, was beginning to feel the pull - as though Spencer was some kind of black hole, sucking in everyone around him.

Gazing down at the ocean was making Lassiter dizzy - or was it the introspection? He backed away from the rail, taking a couple of deep breaths to clear his head. There were bad guys on board and it was time to flush them out. He needed to be at the top of his game. As he slipped his hand beneath his coat and rested it lightly on his holster, he waited for the first mate to respond.

Hold on, though... What if Gorman had lied about that too?

"And how can we be sure you're not one of Meek's flunkeys, trying to throw us off the scent?" he demanded, earning a scowl from O'Hara. Fair enough - he _had_ trampled all over her own line of questioning without so much as a by-your-leave. Even so, the regret he felt was fleeting. They were on the same side, after all, and this was a race to get results. Observing the niceties of polite behaviour was a luxury he couldn't afford when lives were at stake. And so they _were_ , he realised, taken aback by the sudden and obvious thought that Shawn could actually die, even now, on the edge of rescue.

 _Not on my watch._ O'Hara... O'Hara would never forgive herself. _And Spencer would come back and haunt the bullpen, like some aggravating poltergeist. Popcorn and paperclips everywhere._

Then there was Henry...

Lassiter shuddered.

Meanwhile, Gorman was looking uncomfortable. "I'm not sure how I can help you with that, ma'am," she protested. "I'm me. What else can I tell you?"

"Well now, let's see. I'm a big fan of record-keeping," Dunlap suggested, making Lassiter jump. When had she joined the conversation? "It's a blessing _and_ a curse - but mostly a blessing for me. Which goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway." There was an evil gleam in her eye. "Why not give me a thrill, Ms. Gorman? Let's take a look at the log, shall we? If you're the first mate, your name is bound to be in there."

"I... ah..."

Gorman's self-assurance was crumbling right in front of their eyes. With a slick move that he had been rehearsing over and over in his imagination, Lassiter whipped out his gun. "Precisely," he growled. "Did you know that lies have a very particular odour?" He tapped his nose. "And I'm a bloodhound for the truth..." Sneaking a glance at Dunlap, he hoped to see admiration on her face. Instead, her mouth was twitching in amusement. Darn. _I went too far,_ he realised, with an inward sigh.

"Down, boy," said the smirking commander. Behind her, Manners was trying not to giggle. Her stone-faced colleague seemed less than amused, but that didn't mean he wasn't laughing on the inside.

O'Hara glared at Dunlap, clearly preparing to stick up for her partner. Lassiter shook his head, advising her to fall back and let him take it on the chin. Their position on this team was already so precarious. What did a little embarrassment signify, in the grand scheme of things? Spencer embarrassed him all the time, and his skin was much thicker these days. _For which, I suppose, I ought to be grateful._

With a shrug that showed how little it really cost her, Gorman gave up the ruse. Her features shifted and her true personality was revealed. The change was hardly encouraging. This new Ellen Gorman was cooler than the last one, and not in a good way.

"Meek is long gone with your little friend. He _is_ your friend, isn't he? I can tell. Shawn Spencer, psychic detective. Ha! Psychic pain in the... _really_?" she continued, as Lassiter raised his gun again. "Are you going to shoot an unarmed woman? Shame on you, detective."

"You don't know what I'm capable of," he growled. "Start talking. The truth, this time."

Gorman folded her arms. "How about we play a little game? One truth, one lie. Let's see how good your bloodhound senses really are."

"We don't have time for this," O'Hara hissed.

Lassiter shook his head. "I can do it."

"Or we could stick her in the nearest available storage locker and get on with our search. Just a thought," Dunlap commented blithely.

"I like what she said," his partner agreed.

"O'Hara," he frowned, "this ship is enormous. We need information. I told you - I can _do_ this."

Gorman gave a tiny smile of satisfaction. "And _I_ like a man who isn't afraid of a challenge. Very well. Fact one. There's a colleague of mine on the deck right above us, ready to fire when I give him the nod. Fact two. Shawn Spencer is already dead. One truth, one lie. Take your pick."

The gasp from O'Hara was audible. Lassiter knew what he would see if he turned to look at her. White face, wide eyes, determined jaw. But he couldn't be distracted now. Instead, he focussed all of his attention on Gorman's broad features and her cold expression. Using a technique he had perfected during his golden run three years ago (nine cases in a row - still one of his proudest achievements) he held the woman's gaze and waited. Two minutes... three... and sure enough, _there_ was a twitch, and _there_ was a change in her breathing, from calm to shallow. Her hand rose up to fiddle with her collar... and he knew.

"The game is the lie," he said evenly. "There isn't a word of truth in it. No lone gunman up above us. And Spencer is still alive - probably kicking as well, knowing him."

Gorman's look of bitter disappointment was enough to validate his claim. In spite of the circumstances, Lassiter felt deeply satisfied. Not for long, of course. How could he, with Dunlap on hand to bring him down a peg or two?

"Well, that taught us exactly nothing," she grumbled. "Storage locker it is, then."

"But we did learn something. We know that Shawn's alive." O'Hara's eagerness was worrying, and made Lassiter doubt his conclusion for one nasty moment.

That was when they heard it. A desperate scream in the distance, and a faint splash. It _had_ to be Spencer, the king of unfortunate timing. Alive, then - but for how long? "Don't let Gorman out of your sight," he told Manners and Stone Face as he, O'Hara and Dunlap all began to run full tilt along the deck, armed and ready for anyone who dared to get in their way. _Dammit, Spencer,_ thought Lassiter, squinting ahead through the glare of the early morning sun. _You couldn't wait five minutes._ There was still no doubt in his mind that the scream belonged to Shawn. After all, he had heard it before, many times - and when he looked at O'Hara, he knew that his hunch was right. She had recognised it too.

"This is... bad," she gasped as she ran. "Really bad..."

"Could be worse." Dunlap was barely breaking a sweat. Her running style was elegant in its efficiency. "The patrol boat is down below. My guys'll grab him. They know the drill. Correction - they've _done_ the drill, many times over."

"Really?" O'Hara cried - and for the look on his partner's face alone, Lassiter could have kissed the commander right there on the spot.

"Stands to reason." They staggered to a halt near an open cabin door. "Here, I think, judging by how the scream carried. Besides, we're almost at the prow. Can't go much further. I'll check with the crew down below." And Dunlap lifted the radio to her lips.

The open door was bothering Lassiter. "Perhaps Meek or one of the others was hiding in here with a hostage. And - let's face it - we all know how irritating Spencer can be when he wants to."

"You're saying this was _his_ fault?" O'Hara leaned out over the rail, peering down at the water. "Shawn!" she yelled, but the wind snatched his name away. "I can't see him... Carlton. _Pl_ _ease_ come and look."

"Don't jump in," he warned her grimly. Instead of joining her at the rail, he inched towards the open door, gun raised and caution to the forefront. _I think there's someone inside,_ he mouthed to Dunlap. Was this it? Were they finally about to come face to face with Edgar Meek, the scumbag who had caused them so much trouble? Lassiter relished the confrontation.

"SBPD," he announced. "And the coastguard. Come out with your hands up - or we're coming in."


End file.
